#ronin beaufort x reader

[z0mb13b1tez]

WHY IS THE KILLER CHAT FANDOM LITERALLY ALLERGIC TO HAPPINESS

I just wanna read a fanfic where ronin and i are happy and in love WHY IS THERE SO MUCH ANGST 💔💔💔💔

I love angst but cmon let me be happy </3

[dumjokes]

RONIN BEAUFORT X READER

||ONE-SHOT||

Mostly in his POV, Sorry if I got his character wrong!! They/them pronouns are used!

A typical afternoon with Ronin is awesome. cuddling in bed with one another after he comes back from work and killing, eating lunch and dinner together, watching TV and just enjoying each other's company, but today isn't a normal afternoon for either of you, Ronin is on his day off and hes obviously going to spend it with you.

"Nooooo-!" They exclaim with a whine to him as he cackles not taking what they want to do seriously.

"Darling! Come on it's not that serious-" He starts before cackling more, adding a wonky hairstyle on the stick figure. Which was supposed to be a drawing of his Darling, his fallen angel, his writer, his artist, his Y/n. Sadly it doesn't look like them, it looks like a crude drawing a 5 year old would give their parents after preschool.

“I'm stressed over making you look good to be met with that! ” They whine to him pointing to the masterpiece they've made of him comparing it to his stick figure of them.

"Y/n, it's not that bad, hm? Why do I need to draw a picture when you and your pretty aorta is right in front of me?" He murmurs smirking hand already outstretched and caressing their face like they're the most precious thing in the world. Even though he could totally kill them. He wouldn't though, they're too precious too kind, too sweet and all his.

"....." They look flustered leaning into his touch, practically stunned from the sudden attention before melting into it like a lovesick puppy. Lookin' at him like he's a nightmare gone right after too many boring days alone, staring at the pitch black of his eyes, the same eyes that only shine for them, he's their devil, their antichrist, their killer, their Ronin.

"Look at the time darling! Seems like it's almost time for bed?" His hand moves from their face to lift them up. "ACK-" they screeched, practically stunned as he lifted them up bridal style carrying them back to their room, a king sized mattress, pink sheets, a fluffy pillow, and an army of stuffed animals are strategically placed (thrown) on the bed. Their collection of items and trinkets proudly displayed on one wall while another has his antichrist devilish decor.

He plops them onto the bed right onto the pillow, then sitting on the side of the bed, watching their still flustered face. "Darling... Y/nnn..." He gets closer whispering into their ear seeing them get more flustered before leaning back and laughing at them. Before tackling them with a hug, tickling them till they turn red in the face for a different reason.

"Look at my precious lover's smile! Your face is so pretty like always," he stops tickling them before rubbing their throat with his thumb, almost lost in thought, his actions weren't threatening his touch was too light to be threatening. "What?" They questioned looking at him with concern, the concern is not from fear mostly curiosity, their eyes shining at him like the sun, the moon, and the stars in the sky. Like he's their Earth. Needed, wanted, loved possibly to a fucked up amount.

"Nothing, darling! I just don't wanna go to work. Especially since I have a pretty thing like you around at home waiting for me." He murmurs, nuzzling his nose against theirs in a nose-to-nose kiss before, giving them a proper kiss and laying fully on top of them. Not letting them move.

"You're trapped now!" He cackles, snuggling his face against their neck not moving at all. Tangling his legs with theirs for added security so they don't leave but he knows they wouldn't, he feels their breathing slow, their arms wrapping around him and when their fully asleep, snoring, but peaceful he dozes off too, listening to their breathing and their heartbeat that only beats for him.

[riverintheunderworld]

may i request ronin and a transmasc mc? (i crave t4t content.)

YOU !! you remind me of my friend a lot ( loves ronin and LOVES LOVES mlm t4t content ) anyways !!

Ronin Beaufort x Transmasc MC

You had a lot of ambitions in life. Like, a lot. If your preditions were right, you we're gonna have a best -selling book by now, being loved by everyone -- at least, everyone who took the time to read thriller books about serial killers.

You didn't expect to be in a server full of them, and you would've never guessed that it would be one of the best things to happen to you.

Also, you definitely didn't expect to be dating one of them.

Ronin Beaufort.

A man who is in your bed in this very moment, tracing a finger over your chest -- and it's worth the binder on your chest used to be his own. It feels weird, but nice. You never had the luxury to buy one for yourself before.

His legs are tangled with yours, and you're almost cuddling, for fuck's sake.

Honestly, you feel like you're overheating. The AC is off, because the temperature is bearable when there isn't someone sharing his body heat with you.

"Why are you thinkin' so hard?" Ronin tilts his head, looking at you with that stupid grin of his. The one that you like a little too much.

"I don't know. It's hard not to think."

Ronin laughs again, like he's taking that as a personal challenge.

Unfortunately, you don't think it'll be all that hard for him to stop your thoughts completely. Even worse, it wouldn't be all that hard for the man to direct all your thoughts to himself.

With the way he's looking at you, it seems like he's also aware of that fact.

The hand tracing your chest starts to linger on your hair, playing with the ends of it.

It's barely been a week since you've cut it. Honestly, you can't even remember how it happened. The most you remember is that it was an ungodly hour, and that there was a very tired but willing Ronin cutting your hair over the bathroom sink.

You liked the way it looked.

It's a lot better than how it would've looked if you got it from the barber across the street. You might've still held a grudge on the one who worked on your hair -- he seemed to have a personal vendetta on you and cut it in the worst way possible.

But this? This was nice. You looked in the mirror and actually... felt good with what you saw.

It still felt weird that Ronin Beaufort, the serial killer who you thought saw you as nothing but a playtoy, was the one who willingly helped with all of this.

Very weird.

"I like the way this looks on ya," he murmurs, and you would almost think he's going soft with the way his face holds a gentle expression. "-so handsome."

"I could say the same for you." You could hear your smile in your voice.

When did you start smiling? You didn't know, and you couldn't really stop. Even when you tried.

Ronin, praise the man, starts scratching your scalp. You could honestly fall asleep like this. You will fall asleep like this, actually.

You allow yourself to close your eyes, letting out a soft sigh as his hands work on your head.

After a while, you feel yourself slipping even more, but you force yourself to open your eyes. You want to... well, you're not exactly sure. But your body starts moving on its own, and it's not really in your top priorities to try to stop it.

Without even thinking, you take his hand, intertwining it with yours.

Ronin stays still, looking at you with a raised brow, and you wonder if you finally caught him off guard.

You place his hand close to your face, and you give it a kiss as you look back into those eyes.

Ronin's eyes flicker away for one second, and you feel his fingers twitch.

There's a bit of comfort about the fact that you can ruin him as much as he's ruined you.

You place another kiss.

A/N: HI HI AUTHOR RIVS HERE I HOPE U LIKED THIS!!! sorry if this isn't what u were looking for anon but u can always send in another ask :3 SEND ME THOUSANDS IF YOU'D LIKE!! because i would definitely like that!!!

anyways watch me play killer chat again.. i miss my gays (and im also distracting myself from the fact that im like 1 dollar short for the adwd dlc that i want to buyyy </3 sighh time to finish comms)

ANYWAYS ENOUGH RAMBLING i love u whoevers reading this mwuah mwuahh

[6feathered6siren6]

Dating the chaotic duo(Misaki x Ronin x Reader)

Trigger warning

Death/killing

Gore

A lot of Fluff(My friend said this was rotten sweet fluff)

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

Asking anyone, is dating a killer dangerous? Depending on the person, there were multiple responses. 

Yes, they killed someone, they could kill you at any time

Depends on why they killed someone

If you love them, sure, but don’t drag anyone into the messy drama after

From your best friend, they gave the response, “You need to stop being attracted to red flags. And no, do not date any killers. You are only gonna get yourself killed.” And did you ignore them? Yes, yes you did. Twice in fact. Dating the Devil’s butcher and an assassin. How wrong could your best friend be? 

Very wrong, apparently.

ཐི♡ཋྀ

Example 1: 

It was you and Misaki up in your apartment, both of you had that giddy, stupidly in love smile. Your foreheads were touched with that sweet laughter from Misaki. Sure, it was weird that just about an hour ago, she killed someone. But smaller details, huh?

“I can’t believe that I’m holding you, that you are in my arms right now. God, I'm sooo gonna annoy you for a long, long time. Well, until I have to go back, but I will definitely get a visa and-”

You interrupted her with a kiss on her lips. “Let’s leave the planning for later, for now, I just want to savor this moment with you.”

“Right, right. I am so gonna cuddle you for so long, you won’t escape from me,” She holded a smile that screamed havoc. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Example 2:

It was pouring outside, and you were in your living room, typing away on your laptop. You were sipping away from your drink, when you heard your door unlock and the door open. Hearing it close and a slop sound. You look over at the door to see a drenched Ronin. To you, he looked like a wet cat to you. 

You snickered out, with a reaction of a glare from him. “Not gonna help me, Darlin’?” 

“Nope, it seems you got it, Ronin.” You looked back to your laptop. Getting back into your thought process to only feel a cold, wet arm around your neck, moving you back. You screeched as you felt your back get wetter by the moment. Nor longer warm, you shrieked with Ronin chuckling now. “Wanne help out now?”

“Yes, yes. God, you are co-ld. Please, mercy.” You yelled out. He was cold like a corpse to you. He was laughing at your pain as he stayed close to you, getting your clothes even more wet.

“Nah, since you wanna be mean, I’ll let you suffer, since you want me to suffer.” You were scrambling to get away from him and his coldness, but it was Ronin. He was stronger than you, so leaving little to no possibility to get out on your own.

“Alright, alright, I’ll help! Ple-ease! You are cold!” You screamed out, and finally taking your answer, he lets you go. You felt your now somewhat drenched shirt, you wanted to change. You glared up at him. “Asshole.”

“Oh, so you wanna still wanna suffer then?” He looked down with mischief. 

“No, nope. I’m good.” You got up from the couch, pulling the back off your shirt further away from your back. “Now, go take a shower, and warm up. Geez, it felt like you were a corpse.” He leans with a smile. “No. Go take a shower. I’m sure I still have some of your pjs somewhere.” 

As you were about to start walking off, Ronin pulled you into a kiss. “Truth or dare after I shower?” 

You sighed, as you looked up at him. “Fine. Only if we can cuddle later.”

“Such a demanding Darlin’.”

‧₊˚ ⋅  𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Example 3: 

For some reason, all three of you decided to have dinner at your place. So after a whole grocery adventure, leading to Misaki wanting to grab instant noodles or candy, or Ronin wanting to grab food not even related to the dinner, the three of you agreed. To say the least, you were the only one on task. Thankfully. 

As the bags were sent down onto the counter, you guys agreed to have breakfast for dinner. Waffles, eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast, juice, and some fruit. It was your request from the magic hat of choosing, or at least an online wheel you guys made a month ago since all of you couldn’t decide. 

“So, who wants what job?” You offered as you started pulling things out of the bags. 

“I’ll take cutting things, you both know I’m good with that.” Ronin said he sat on one of the island chairs, leaning on his elbow on the counter. Misaki was jumping in excitement at that thought, you knew he was good by the pictures from the server. 

Sighing out, “Fine, just don’t cut yourself.” You grabbed one of your knives and handed it to him. “So you got cutting fruit and a job I’m giving you is also making the waffles. Then Misaki?”

“Oo, oo, oo. I can make the batter! And toast the bread!” She was pulling out the flour, sugar, baking soda, and the loaf of bread. 

“Then that leaves me to make the bacon and eggs. I’m sure nothing will go wrong.” 

You just had to jinx it, did you?

All three of you got flour all over yourselves. Misaki threw flour at Ronin for something you didn’t really hear since you were paying attention to the eggs. And they were having a flour fight, and Ronin, being himself, invited you to the fight. By throwing flour at you. 

By the time the breakfast was done, you three were covered in flour and waffle batter(Ronin did that one as well). 

“You look darling as a ghost. Both of you do.” Ronin was the least amount covered, which ticked you off. He was the first to throw things at you specifically. How is this taller bastard less covered than you and Misaki? 

You looked at Misaki as she looked back at you, both of you had that glint. Misaki opened her arms a little, and you nod. As Ronin turned away, the both of you hugged the male, making him cover into a mess as well. 

“Didn’t want you to miss out, Ronin.” You sweetly said to him. He looked down at both of you. 

“Come on, Ronin, get as messy as us.” Then pause. “Wait… that sounded way too wrong.” You see their faces explode into red. Laughing at their embarrassment, you felt Ronin put a hand on your hand as well as Misaki’s head. 

“As messy as I like it, I wanna change, plus, it’s my turn to pick the movie we are watching.” You loosen your grip to look at him, almost like you were in danger. 

“No…” You softly said, feeling the dread come in. Misaki, who also understood what he was gonna mention. 

“Yes, since both of you made me watch Heathers, and kept comparing me to JD. I’m so gonna make you watch it.” He said, his voice was deeply like venom.

⋆

The movie? Was kinda meh in your opinion, but only because you grossed out by some of the overly bloody murder scenes. And you had both killers pointing out the misinformation of the movie.

Example 4: 

All three of you were in bed, Misaki was in the middle, Ronin was on the left, and you were on the right. The window was close to you, shining light over the three of you. You woke up after a harsh dream, so you were just watching the three sleep. 

As much as you try to make fun of Ronin, saying he snored, was a lie. He was quiet, and the moment he fell asleep, he acted like he’s dead. Barely moving except for his breathing. Misaki was holding you like their own personal teddy bear. She moves slightly but not too harshly. You move some of her hair away from their face. 

The smile on your face was soft and light. It was a truly happy, quiet moment between the three. Ronin and Misaki are quite loud when hyper, but who can say? You also indulge into their acts of tomfoolery. You savored this moment until you felt a hand on your cheek. 

“What’s rattling in that head of yours?” Ronin was awake. His voice sounded deeper and quiet. Mostly not to wake the person in between them. 

“Just a bad dream. Nothing to worry about.” You felt his thumb move on your cheek. Soothing your nerves, he just raitated calmness and love into his touch. “Promise.”

“If there was nothing to worry about, you would still be asleep than awake in the witchen hours.” He grunted out. You felt his dark eyes on you. 

“Just a dumb nightmare, I’ll be fine, now why are you up?” You finally look at him in his eyes. 

“Dunno, just woke up. Might be because you are awake.” 

“Ahh.” You felt his hand move up to play with your hair. 

“Why are we awake? It’s like so fuckin’ early.” Misaki grunted out into your arms. They shifted into your arms, like they were trying to get further into you. 

“Well, Darlin’ woke up from a grotesque dream, not spilling their lips. A shame.”

“Rrreeaadderrr… Come on.” She looks up at you. “We are here to support you, we are your partners, after all.” 

“I know, I know. Just this dream is a bit different. Let me have a moment with it.” The dream was both of them trying to kill you, you knew it was a small chance to have that actually happen. But… You didn’t want them to know. To know that you somewhat still fear them.

“Well, whatever it is, must be dumb. Now please, it is really too early to be awake, and I want to see what carnival fair is in person.” That’s right, it must have slipped your mind. You and Ronin wanted to show a fair to Misaki. You just wanted to be cliche into the ferris wheel. 

You kissed her forehead. “Alright, alright.” You see them fall asleep, leaving both you and Ronin away. You look up at him in the nightly light from your window. You felt his hand leave your head and see it pull both you and Misaki closer to him. 

“You got both killers near you. If there’s a danger, you know I would bash them, and Misaki would kill it with their rifle. Now go back to bed, I don’t want to see a peeved Reader, because you didn’t get enough sleep tomorrow.” He kissed your forehead, and laid his arm around you and Misaki.

You had sweet dreams after that.

Example 5:

Sometimes, you forget you literally date killers. After all the sweet moments, it puts red tinted glasses on your nose. 

It’s past midnight, and both Misaki and Ronin decided to go out in the alleyways. The carnival fair was great, you and Ronin got Misaki a gift, and she won prizes at the shooting games. Which you kept saying being an assassin is cheating. Minor points aside. Ronin is in the mood to kill someone, Misaki is for the thrill, meanwhile, you just want to go home. But, you didn’t want to be left out, and just alone, afterall, it is a date.

You were sitting on the boxes in Ronin’s alley, watching him and Misaki talk. You look back on memories you had with the two of them, they’re sweet to you in their own ways. You look at your hands, wondering how far this is gonna go. And hopefully, a very long time. 

CRACK

You look over to see Ronin split someone head open. You could see the poor soul’s head open. But you can also see who it was, it was some hotshot ceo. Apparently from the rumors you get from your journalism job, you heard that he was an asshole, flirted with any woman near him, and cheated constantly on his girlfriend. His girlfriend was also abused by him, stealing her money for his company. Well, luckily for her, he’s dead. 

Misaki startled you by sitting next to you, and she snickered at you jumping. You shoved their shoulders as Ronin started talking. 

“So what message should be sent this time? Pentagram?” 

Jumping in her seat, “Oo, oo, oo! What about something romantic, finish the night strong!” 

Ronin looks up with a grin, humming from contemplation. “Reader, what do you think?” 

You thought for a moment. “What about his aorta?”

Ronin stared at you for a moment before walking over and holding a knife to you. “How about you carve it for me, Darlin’?”

Right.. That promise you made when you were flirting with him before. You cringed at the thought, but sighed. A promise is a promise. You took the knife and walked over with him. Misaki was watching you. 

You slowly do the process, luckily Ronin has told you how to do it when you were writing your novel. If you make a mistake Ronin would just either let you fail or just correct you. If you weren’t literally carving out someone’s heart, it would be another sweet blissful date. 

After a quite messy and bloody moment, you had the asshole’s heart in your hand. You hand it into Ronin with both hands. 

“It’s not my own heart, but… an offering ‘till then.” You said with a smile, it was sweet and loving, his grin was plastered on his face. Misaki was near Ronin, looking at it. 

“I can’t believe you collect these, Ronin. Instead of the tooth fairy, you could be a body collector. ‘Gotta make my own makeshift body’. Frankenstein kinnie.” Which made you snort, not expecting that. 

“You mean the doctor who made him, hot stuff. We might have to watch it if you didn’t know.” Ronin said. 

“When it’s your turn, Ronin. I have next pick.” You said starting to walk to your place once again. Of course to change and cuddle. After all, it was the last night Misaki would be here. They have to go back to Japan again.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

I feel like I didn't write Misaki as much but I will want to expand the poly couple. And yes, I wrote this for me and purely for me. Love the duo. Anyway, it is late for me, I'm gonna pass out, this will be posted on ao3 when I get the moment to.

Words: 2,365

[puzzledprose]

ronin x reader x angel hcs!!! sfw or nsfw idrc 👀(feel free to ignore if you don’t wanna do it)

I’m not writing for Angel yet as I haven’t played through her route yet (and I would rather DIE than write bad fanfic) but this immediately made me think of something I saw on my Pinterest a while ago…

[gdragonsideburns]

finally finished my ronin beaufort x reader smut lmao. it's on ao3, nowhere else. heres the link.

its 12k words long, has both a transmasc & ver and a they/them pussy ver, and is ENTIRELY disturbing and gross! (best kind of porn imo). THIS IS DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT CONTENT. READ THE TAGS OR CONTENT WARNING IN NOTES. DO NOT READ IT IF YOU AREN'T OKAY WITH THE THINGS LISTED THERE.

it's my first time posting porn lmao lmk what yall think of it

FORGOT TO SAY: MINORS PLEASE DNI, CANT CONTROL WHAT U READ BUT IT MAKES ME UNCOMFORTABLE WHEN YOU COMMENT AS I AM AN ADULT. Ty for respecting my boundaries.

[aurmisery]

- a little death -

ronin b. x gn! reader !!

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

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

cw // mentions of sh scars on mc -

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

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

1878 word count!!!!!!!

FUCKIFORGOT THIS US FLUFF BTW

-

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you did look good in his clothes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"yeah- abusers. usually, anyway."

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

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

"okay, okay, i get it."

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

you grin.

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

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

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

"okay, fine! fuck, you win!"

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

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

you just made the devil bow his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then his eyes harden.

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

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

"the devil? hell yeah."

he smiles.

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

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

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

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

you're all the decoration he needs.

-

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

[melodyy-mel]

Killer chat - Ronin,Misaki,Angel, and V Icons

These icons are based on / are characters from Killer Chat it's a really interesting game you should check out on itch.io !! And a little Birdy told me there might be a Christmas dlc soon !!!

The art is by a_sakanya please correct me if I'm wrong

And I wish you all a happy new year !!!

(I wanted to do banners but I'm tired and lazy ... )

[cloudss-space]

Metal Band Guitarist Ronin x Drummer MC?? 👀👀👀

What is taken, is given

( killer chat ) ronin x reader ... band au ... given inspired

trigger warning:

character death / mention of suicide

slight gore

Drumming was your means of survival, not just music. From the moment you were old enough to hold sticks in your small, trembling hands, you felt it deep in your marrow. At five, you didn't know what rhythm was in any formal sense, but you knew how it felt. It was the wild, chaotic thudding of your own heart, the pounding of your feet as you ran barefoot across cracked pavement, the desperate, incessant hum of staying alive in a world that always felt too sharp – and you did it.

At six, you built your first drum kit. You used whatever you could find: old pots and pans, coffee cans, anything that could take the beating of your hands. The skin on your palms split sometimes, little rivers of red tracing the lines of your tiny fingerprints. You didn't care. The pain was nothing. It was just a necessary offering to summon the sound.

The drumsticks came later, as a gift from someone whose name you don't even remember. You held them in your fists like weapons, determined to beat the silence into submission. Every strike of wood against metal or plastic sent vibrations through your arms, shaking loose the tension that lived in your small body like a parasite. You hit harder and harder, chasing a release you knew was coming.

By seven, your passion had become an all-consuming obsession. You carved patterns into the walls with the tips of your sticks, tracing rhythms you had to unleash. Your parents yelled, but you were too busy listening to the pounding in your head to hear them. You were too busy listening to the ghost of a snare drum that hadn't been born yet, the phantom echo of a kick drum that lived only in your dreams.

The neighbours complained about the noise, but I told them noise was better than silence. Silence was suffocating. It was a gaping maw that swallowed you whole and left you stranded in your own thoughts. The drums were loud, messy and alive. Each hit was a defiant scream of existence, a reminder that you were still here, still fighting.

At eight, you got your first real drum kit – a battered, secondhand set someone had abandoned in a garage sale. It was a Frankenstein monster of mismatched pieces: a snare with a dented head, a kick drum missing its front skin, cymbals with cracks spidering through their edges. But to you, it was beautiful.

You bled for that kit, and you meant every drop. Your hands bled, forming blisters that popped and reformed, leaving streaks of red on the drumheads. The sight of it made you feel alive in a way you could not and would not explain. Pain was part of the process. It was the cost of creating something that felt bigger than yourself.

By nine, you knew drumming had changed you. It was more than just a hobby. It was a transformation. When you played, you were no longer the quiet, awkward kid who flinched at loud voices and harsh words. You transformed into something else, something raw and primal, someone who demanded to be acknowledged.

The drums demanded everything from you. You practised for hours until your arms ached and your muscles trembled under the strain. You kept going despite the fatigue, the sweat dripping into your eyes, the sting of salt mixing with the rawness of your skin. You played until the world narrowed to nothing but the rhythm, the sound, and the motion.

At ten, you grasped the darker side of your passion. The drums were more than just an escape; they were an outlet for everything you couldn't say and everything you couldn't feel safely. Anger, fear, despair – they all came pouring out in relentless cascades of sound. Sometimes you hit so hard that the sticks splinter in your hands, the shards cutting into your skin. You'd pick them out later, and they'd be there, tiny splinters embedded like memories you couldn't quite shake.

The kit was the target of your wrath. The skins were stretched taut like a body under stress, taking every blow without complaint. But it wasn't enough. The noise wasn't loud enough. The strikes weren't hard enough. You wanted to fly, to break free from the crushing weight of expectation that hung over you like a guillotine.

Your parents simply didn't understand. They called it a phase, but I know better. I'll grow out of it. They scolded you for making too much noise and spending too much time on something that didn't matter. The drums mattered more to you than anything. They were your voice when words failed, your lifeline when the world became too much.

The beat was relentless and unyielding. It followed you everywhere, even in your dreams. You'd wake up with your fingers twitching, mimicking the patterns you had played earlier. The rhythms lived in your body, a second pulse that kept you grounded even when everything else threatened to fall apart.

But the passion came at a cost. Your hands were a patchwork of scars, the skin rough and calloused. Your back ached from hours of leaning over the kit, and your ears rang from the constant crash of cymbals. You questioned whether you were destroying yourself, piece by piece, for the sake of the sound.

And yet, you simply couldn't stop. The drums were my addiction, my need as essential as breathing. You played through the pain, through the exhaustion, through the doubts that crept in when the world grew quiet. You did not let anything stop you. When you played, you felt invincible, untouchable, alive.

By the end of each session, the drumheads were streaked with sweat and sometimes blood, the sticks worn down to nubs. The room reeked of exertion, determination, and endurance. You sat there, breathless, staring at the kit as if it were a living thing, a beast you had tamed for a fleeting moment.

The drums defined you. They were your identity, the thing that set you apart from those who drifted through life without purpose. They were your rebellion against the silence, your refusal to fade into the background – and you made that clear. And even as they demanded more and more from you, you gave willingly, knowing that the cost was worth it.

The drums were your lifeline, not just music. In a world that often didn't make sense, they were the only thing that did. As long as you had them, you knew you could keep going, keep fighting, keep living. It hurt, but you kept going. Even if it bled.

The drumsticks felt weightless in your hands at first, like extensions of your own body. You joined the band at fourteen and it was everything for a while. The beat became your heartbeat, the rhythm your breath. It was freedom, pounding through your veins as the snare and cymbals roared beneath your touch. When you played, the world faded. The noise inside your head was drowned out by something louder, something yours.

You met him there, the boy who would change everything. He was sharp and edgy, with soft eyes that fascinated you from the start. He played the bass with an effortless ease that made you jealous. His name was Ezra, and when he smiled, the world tilted.

At first, it was just stolen glances and shared laughs between sets. But it didn't take long for something deeper to grow. He saw you in a way no one else ever had. He peeled back the layers you'd carefully constructed and touched something raw inside you. He made you feel like you were living, not just surviving.

You loved the nights. After practice, you sat on the hood of his car, legs dangling over the edge, talking about everything and nothing. He lit a cigarette, the cherry glowing like a tiny ember in the darkness, and you watched the smoke curl into the air, wishing you could be as free as it looked.

You fell in love quietly, like slipping into a warm bath. It wasn't sudden or dramatic, but it consumed you all the same. You didn't tell him right away, but you didn't have to. You were confident that he would understand. He knew. You could see it in the way he looked at you. He looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in a room full of people.

He kissed you for the first time behind the venue after your first gig. Your hands were shaking, not from nerves but from the adrenaline of the performance, and he grabbed them to steady you. His lips were soft and tentative, and you felt something inside you crack open, like the world was finally letting a little light in.

But light doesn't last.

You didn't see the darkness creeping into him at first. He concealed it skilfully, masking it behind his genial demeanor and keen intellect. But there were moments, brief but intense, when the mask came undone. You'd catch him staring into the distance, his eyes hollow, as if he was somewhere else entirely. When you asked, he simply shrugged it off with a smile that was too quick and too practiced.

The fights started small, with inconsequential issues that were easily overlooked. He'd snap at you over a missed note or disappear for days without explanation. You told yourself it was normal, that everyone had bad days, but you knew better.

Then came the silence. This wasn't the kind of quiet you found comforting, like the pause between drumbeats. It was stifling, laden with all the words he chose to leave unsaid. He stopped coming to practice and stopped answering your calls. The band felt empty without him. It was like a song missing its melody.

You found him one night, slumped against the wall of his room, the floor littered with empty bottles and ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale, and he looked at you as if he didn't even recognise you. He told you he was fine, but you knew he wasn't.

You didn't know how to save him, but you were going to find out.

You were the one who found him when it happened. That memory is seared into your mind, a wound that never stops bleeding. You can still see the crimson pooling around his wrists, the stillness of his body in the dim light of his room. The bass guitar he loved so much was leaning against the wall, untouched, as if mocking you.

Your scream was inhuman. It felt like something was ripping you apart from the inside, shredding every part of you that had ever felt whole. You fell to your knees, your hands shaking as you tried to stop the bleeding, even though you knew it was too late.

The funeral was a blur. A cacophony of muffled sobs and whispered condolences that meant nothing. You refused to look at his parents, unable to bear the weight of their grief, which mirrored your own. You sat in the back, your hands clenched into fists, nails digging into your palms until they drew blood.

Drumming was no longer an option. The sticks felt foreign in your hands, the beats hollow and meaningless. Every time you touched the drum set, you saw his face, heard his laugh, and felt the weight of his absence like a phantom limb. The music that had once saved you now felt like a curse.

You tried to move on, but the guilt was relentless. You replayed every moment in your head, searching for the signs you'd missed and the things you could have done differently. You told yourself it was your fault. If you'd been better and stronger, he'd still be here.

The band simply couldn't go on without him. The others tried to keep it going, but it was obvious it wasn't the same. The rhythm was all wrong and the energy was gone. You drifted apart, each of you bearing your own burden of grief and scars.

Nights were the worst. The silence that once comforted you now felt like a void, engulfing you. You lie awake, staring at the ceiling, your mind a whirlwind of memories and regrets. You reached for the drumsticks, then stopped. The weight of them was too much to bear.

You dreamed of him sometimes. In your dreams, he was alive, smiling, his hands warm against your skin. But even in the dreams, you saw the shadow behind his eyes, a stark reminder that he was gone. You wake up gasping, tears streaming down your face.

You cut music out of your life for a while because the sound was too painful. Even the sound of a snare drum in a passing car made your chest tighten. The memories flooded back in vivid, agonising detail.

People told you it would get better, that time would heal the wound. They were wrong. But it didn't. The wound wasn't healing. It was festering and infecting every part of you until you didn't recognise yourself anymore.

And yet, deep inside, you knew that you couldn't let go completely. You kept his bass guitar, even though you didn't want to play it. You kept the setlists from your gigs, the ones he'd scribbled on, his handwriting messy but unmistakable.

You carried him with you, in every note you couldn't play and every beat you couldn't hit. He's gone, but he's still there. He's a ghost haunting the spaces between the rhythms of your life.

You were unsure if you'd ever find your way back to the drums, but you knew one thing for certain: the silence was unbearable. And you know what? One day, you'll find a way to fill it again.

Graduation was coming, and you knew it was a milestone you should have been celebrating. Instead, it felt like a noose tightening around your neck. The cap and gown hung in your closet, their fabric ghosting against your fingers every time you reached for something else. People called this time of life bittersweet, but you knew it was only bitter – a cruel joke wrapped in the pretence of moving forward.

The halls of your high school were the same as they'd always been, but you could feel them emptying around you. Your past lover's absence clung to you like smoke, lingering in places where he used to stand, in the faint echoes of laughter that would never return. The band was gone, and so was he, and without them, every passing day felt more hollow than the last.

Your classmates spoke about college, careers and futures, their voices ringing out like a chorus around you. You nodded when they asked about your plans and offered vague smiles when they asked how you were doing. But inside, you knew you were spinning your wheels in the mud. What future could there possibly be without him? What future could there be without music? The guilt tightened its grip on you with every congratulatory word, their smiles blind to the storm raging behind yours.

On good days, you felt numb. On bad days, you felt like the wound your past lover left behind was bleeding all over again, staining every part of you that tried to move on. Nights were the worst – long, suffocating stretches of time where the silence grew louder than anything else. The nightmares were relentless, dragging you back to the moment you found him, to the stillness of his body, to the crimson that refused to leave your hands no matter how many times you tried to scrub it away.

There were moments when you felt his absence acutely, even in the ordinary things. An empty chair in the classroom, the acrid smell of cigarette smoke as you passed someone on the street, the strum of a bass in a song you hadn't heard in years. Each reminder cut deeper than the last. The universe itself seemed to be conspiring to keep him fresh in your mind.

You stopped telling people about the dreams. They simply didn't understand how vivid and real they felt. In them, he was alive and kicking. He was vibrant, laughing, teasing you about your drumming or sharing secrets under the stars. You'd wake up gasping, reaching for something that wasn't there, and the crushing weight of reality would settle back over you like a shroud.

The graduation rehearsals felt like another cruel reminder. The stage where you'd receive your diploma stretched out in front of you, a symbol of achievement you didn't care about. Your past lover had always joked about the future, about how he'd watch you play drums on bigger stages one day. You were stepping onto this stage without him, and you were going to own it.

The school counsellors advised you to speak to someone, but you were not prepared to do so. What could they possibly say that would make a difference? The guilt was too deeply rooted and the pain too sharp. You were walking through life with open wounds, and talking would not sew them shut.

Your parents tried to help, but they didn't understand. Graduation was a celebration and a reason to push forward for them. They failed to grasp the immense weight it carried for you. Every step towards that stage felt like a step away from the life you'd known, the life you'd lost.

You avoided the drums altogether, unable to touch them without feeling like you were desecrating something sacred. They sat in the corner of your room, gathering dust, a monument to what used to be. The silence they left behind was deafening and it seeped into every part of your life.

Your friends invited you to parties, to hangouts, to plans for after graduation, but you turned them down. The effort it took to be around people was too much, and the idea of pretending to be okay was exhausting.

The weight of it all grew heavier with each passing day, a constant pressure in your chest that made it hard to breathe. You knew you didn't deserve to be here, to graduate, to move forward. Your past lover was supposed to be here too, and without him, it all felt meaningless.

Some nights, you sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the crumpled graduation invitation on your desk. You thought about the future you once dreamed of, the one where your past lover was by your side, where the band was still together, where the music still made sense. That future was a cruel joke, a distant echo of something you could never have.

But deep down, you knew you could keep going. For him. For the dreams you shared. You knew you would play that music again, even if you couldn't bring yourself to do so.

You didn't know what graduation would bring, but you were determined to find out. You were equally determined to find out if you'd ever feel whole again. But you knew one thing for certain: your past lover would not have wanted you to stop. He wouldn't have wanted the music to die with him.

As the day drew closer, you tried. It wasn't easy, and it wasn't pretty, but you did it anyway. You found the rhythm again, picked up the pieces of yourself that had shattered when he left. And you found a way to carry him with you, not as a weight but as a reminder of the love you'd shared, the music you'd created, and the life you'd both fought so hard to live.

The desperation gnawed at you, testing the limits of your resolve until you felt raw and hollowed out by the need for something—anything—that could keep you afloat. The debts piled high, each letter in the mail like a strike to the chest, each reminder that you were sinking faster than you could swim. There was no doubt about it. The job interviews blurred together, and each rejection weighed heavily on your shoulders. By the time you met him, exhaustion had become a part of you, as natural as your heartbeat.

It was in some dimly lit corner of the city, the air thick with the smell of stale beer and smoke, a cacophony of sounds ringing in your ears. You strode purposefully to the door, your steps faltering only briefly as you pushed it open. The music inside was loud and raucous, the kind of noise that made your bones ache. That was when you saw him – Ronin.

He stood like he owned the world, the stage his throne and the guitar in his hands a weapon. Every note he played was violent, shredding through the air with a ferocity that felt almost tangible. His grin was sharp, cocky and infuriating. It was the kind of smile that made you want to punch him as much as it made you want to stare.

You stayed because you didn't know why. He played with such passion, it was as if he was bleeding onto the strings, every note a cut across his soul. He commanded the room. His presence was magnetic, pulling you in despite yourself. Or perhaps it was simply that you had nowhere else to go.

The show ended and the crowd dispersed, leaving behind the faint buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses. You stayed, lingering near the bar, and you were going to ask him anything – work, connections, a sliver of opportunity. He approached you instead, his smirk even more infuriating up close.

"You look like you've got nowhere better to be," he said, his voice a low drawl that carried over the din of the room.

You were offended but you stayed. "And you look like you enjoy hearing yourself talk."

He laughed, a sharp, biting sound, and you hated how it made something inside you twist. He introduced himself with the kind of arrogance that made you want to roll your eyes. He was Ronin, guitarist, metalhead, and self-proclaimed genius. But there was something there, something raw and jagged that mirrored the chaos inside you.

He offered you a job soon after. It wasn't a glamorous job and it wasn't something you could put on a resume, but it paid well. You'd be a roadie, a band assistant, hauling equipment and dealing with their mess. You weren't going to take it. You didn't want to be around him. His sharp tongue and sharp eyes made you feel uneasy. He seemed to see right through you. But you needed the money.

The first few weeks were hell. The band was loud, chaotic and constantly on the move. Ronin was worse. He was demanding and impossible to please. His expectations were as high as the volume of his guitar. But he was also brilliant, his talent undeniable. You couldn't help but admire him.

He pushed you, and it felt both infuriating and exhilarating. He challenged you, called you out on your bullshit, and made you feel things you hadn't felt in years. And at some point, the lines between anger and attraction got blurred.

The nights were the hardest. No doubt about it. The silence after the shows felt suffocating, the memories you tried to bury clawing their way to the surface. Your partner's ghost lingered in the quiet, his laugh echoing in the back of your mind, his absence a constant, gnawing ache in your chest. You hated how much you missed him and how much you hated yourself for moving on even a little.

Ronin noticed. He did, of course. He could see right through you and force the truth out of you, whether you wanted to share it or not. He didn't pry or push, but he was there, a constant, grounding presence that was also, infuriatingly, comforting.

He had the same effect on you as your past lover did. It wasn't about looks or actions. It was about how he made you feel. You realise you're not as broken as you thought. You knew there was still something left of you worth saving.

Ronin wasn't your past lover. You refused to let yourself forget that. He was unpolished and unyielding, a force of nature where your ex-lover had been gentle and composed. He was everything you weren't supposed to want and everything you weren't supposed to need.

And yet, you were drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. It was dangerous, and you knew it, but you couldn't stop yourself. He had a way of pulling you out of your head and making you forget how much it hurt to breathe.

The guilt gnawed at you, a constant reminder that you didn't deserve this. You knew you didn't deserve to feel anything but the pain you'd been carrying since the night you lost that lover. Ronin didn't let you wallow. He didn't let you drown.

He was your opposite: fire to your ice, chaos to your control, life to your grief. And for the first time in a long time, you knew you could survive this.

The work was hard, the days long, but you found solace in the rhythm of it. The music, the noise, the chaos – it was a different kind of drumming, one that made your blood sing in ways you hadn't felt in years. And Ronin was there, always there, proving you were never alone.

But the shadows still lingered, the ghosts still haunted you, and the scars you carried weren't so easily healed. You didn't know where this path would lead, but you were determined to find out if you could truly move on. But for the first time, you knew you didn't have to do it alone.

The stage lights blazed into your vision, intense and overwhelming, cutting through the smoky haze like a knife. Every time you sat behind the drum kit, it was like stepping into a war zone. The crowd roared like a tidal wave, their voices colliding and swirling into an unholy storm of sound that rattled your chest and shook your bones. The bass reverberated through your ribs with each beat, hammering against your skin as if it were trying to split you open. And at the centre of it all was Ronin, silhouetted in shadows, his guitar screaming like it was alive.

Playing in the band was pure chaos, an unstoppable force that burned through every part of you. The crash of the cymbals, the pound of the toms, the relentless heartbeat of the kick drum – it was all-consuming, a cacophony that drowned out the world. You hit harder than you needed to, driving the sticks into the drums with a force that seemed to try to punch through them. It was about survival, plain and simple. It was a primal release that kept the darkness at bay.

Ronin thrived in the chaos. His energy was infectious, wild, and unpredictable, and his riffs cut through the air like jagged glass. He locked eyes with you mid-song, his grin sharp enough to slice through the noise, and you hated how it made your heart race. He played with the intensity of a world-changing blaze, and you were just trying to keep up, to match his heat.

The band was a paradox: a sanctuary and a battlefield in one. The music was your armor, your shield against the grief and guilt that still lingered. It also tore you apart. Every song was an exorcism, dragging out the pain and anger you'd tried so hard to bury. You gave everything you had to the drums, every beat a scream, every rhythm a plea for something you couldn't name.

Ronin pushed you harder than anyone ever had. His demands were relentless and his standards were impossibly high. He didn't coddle you. He didn't let you falter, and he didn't let you fail. He was harsh on the critiques, rare on the praise, but when he did nod in approval, it felt like you'd conquered something insurmountable. You hated him for it, but you respected him even more for it.

The music couldn't always mask the pain. No matter how hard you tried to drown it out, the grief clawed its way to the surface on those nights. On those nights, you found yourself watching Ronin from across the room. You saw how he tuned his guitar with precise, almost obsessive care. You saw how his fingers moved over the strings like they were extensions of himself. His intensity and focus made you feel less alone, even if he never said a word.

The band's dynamic was volatile, with a constant push and pull between chaos and control. Fights erupted over nothing and everything. There were creative differences, missed cues and a lot of tension simmering beneath the surface. Ronin was often at the centre of it, and you found yourself clashing with him more often than not, because his temper was as fiery as his playing. But the fights never lasted. The music always brought you back together. It was a shared language that transcended words.

On stage, the world fell away. There was only the music, the lights, the crowd, and the feeling of being part of something larger than yourself. Ronin's guitar roared and howled, his solos cutting through the air like a blade, and you were his backbone, the steady rhythm that grounded the chaos. Together, you created something raw and alive, something that felt like it could shatter the world.

Things were messier offstage, without a doubt. The long nights, the endless miles on the road, the pressure to keep up the momentum – it all took its toll. The camaraderie you felt on stage didn't always translate to real life. There were times when the silence between you and Ronin felt heavier than the music ever could.

But there were moments of clarity, too. The walls came down, if only for a second. Ronin had a way of surprising you. His sharp edges softened when you least expected it. A shared laugh over a stupid inside joke, a quiet conversation in the back of the van, the way he handed you a water bottle after a particularly gruelling set without saying a word – those moments were proof that staying was the right choice.

The music was catharsis, but it was also a constant reminder of what you'd lost. Every time you picked up the sticks, you thought of your past lover, of the way he used to watch you play with a smile that made your heart ache. The guilt was always there, a shadow that lingered at the edge of every note, but the band gave you a way to channel it, to turn it into something tangible, something real.

Ronin never asked about your past, and he didn't need to. He saw it in the way you played, in the way your hands trembled when you thought no one was looking, in the way your eyes glazed over when the memories became too much. He didn't pry or push, but his presence was unwavering and anchored you. It was more than enough.

You began to notice the little things about him: the way his jaw clenched when he was concentrating, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about a new riff, the way his laugh rumbled low and deep like distant thunder. You hated how much you noticed and cared, but you couldn't ignore it.

Ronin had a magnetic pull that drew you in, no matter what you wanted. He was everything you weren't supposed to want, everything you weren't supposed to need, but you couldn't stop yourself. He made you feel alive in a way you hadn't in years, and it terrified you, but you couldn't stop yourself.

The band was a lifeline, a chance to start over, but it was also a stark reminder that you couldn't outrun your demons. The ghosts of your past still haunted you, the scars still ached, but you faced them head-on with the help of music.

Ronin was a part of that, and you couldn't get away from it. He was fire and chaos, raw and untamed. He forced you to confront parts of yourself you'd rather leave buried. He challenged you, pushed you, and made you better. You hated him for it as much as you were grateful.

Every night on stage was a battle. A fight to prove to yourself that you could still create something beautiful despite the pain. The drums became an extension of yourself. Each beat was a heartbeat, each rhythm a reminder that you were still alive. And Ronin was there, always there, his guitar screaming alongside you, a partner in your chaos.

The band took you places you hadn't been before. They kept up a relentless pace, but you were up for the challenge. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you were part of something bigger than yourself. The music was messy, chaotic and imperfect, but it was yours.

And so was Ronin. He was a part of this now, a part of you. Like it or not. He was a constant, a steady presence in the storm, and there was no way you could imagine doing this without him.

The road ahead was uncertain and the future was a blur, but you had the music, the band and Ronin, and that was all you needed. And that was enough.

The air backstage still hummed with the echoes of the performance. The thrum of the bass lingered in your bones, an electric pulse that refused to fade. The world was still reeling from the impact of the show, and your heartbeat thundered like a drumbeat, steady but intense. You wiped sweat from your brow, your fingers still slightly shaking from the adrenaline, but you were unphased. The crowd's roar was fading, but the rush was still there, and it wasn't going anywhere.

Ronin was there too, his presence unmistakable in the haze of the after-party noise. His fingers still curled around the neck of his guitar, as if the music hadn't left him. He was standing near the corner, his posture loose but guarded, looking more tired than he was willing to admit. His hair was tousled, wild from the heat of the stage, strands sticking to his face. His eyes, though, were bright and intense, burning through everything, searching, restless. You caught his gaze, and for a brief moment, the noise of the room dissolved, like a world where only the two of you existed.

He didn't smile yet, but his gaze softened just a little. You moved towards him, drawn by an invisible thread that had been there since the first chord you'd struck on the drums together. The silence between you was a low hum, an unspoken promise that the world around you had stopped for a moment.

The space between you shrank, and then your hand was at his side, boldly taking the lead, testing the waters with a tentative touch. He didn't pull away. His chest rose and fell with every breath, steady and strong, but you could feel the tension radiating off him. Your fingers grazed his arm, and you felt the heat pass through you, electric and alive. For a heartbeat, you both stood there, suspended in the moment, before he closed the distance between you.

Ronin was never one for gentleness, but there was something in the way he leaned in now, his mouth brushing against yours with a kind of quiet force, as if he had been waiting for this, too. His lips were warm and soft, urgent and insistent. The kiss was a slow unravelling, like a thread being pulled through fabric, one inch at a time, making you shiver from the intensity of it.

It was more than just passion, more than just heat. There was something deeper in the way he kissed you. It was unspoken, raw, as though both of you had been waiting to be seen in this way for so long, and now, at last, you were. The world around you blurred, dissolved completely, and it was just the two of you in the quiet of the backstage, the weight of the unspoken between your breaths.

His hands found your shoulders, fingers pressing down and pulling you closer. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he needed to be closer, needed to feel the heat of you against him. You kissed him back, slow and deliberate, savouring the moment. He responded with equal intensity, deepening the kiss and pulling you into him even more.

The sounds of the backstage, the chatter, the music still playing faintly in the distance – all of it faded, leaving only the pulse of the kiss. Your heart pounded against your chest, matching the rhythm of the music you had just played, as if it were still alive within you. Ronin's grip tightened on you, his touch possessive and powerful, igniting a deep, primal response. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, an answer to everything you had been too afraid to say out loud.

For a moment, you felt as if you were on fire. His mouth moved against yours with such intensity, such fervour, that you were consumed by the heat of it, flooded every inch of your body with sensation. You could feel the urgency in him, the way he needed you close, like he couldn't breathe unless you were there. His hand moved to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer until there was no space between you.

Your hand slid around his waist, feeling the tension in his muscles and the smooth curve of his back as he pressed against you. The kiss was slow and deliberate, yet there was an undeniable intensity and a slow-burning desire that surged through both of them. His lips tasted like the night – sweat, smoke and something wild, something untamed.

The kiss went on longer than you thought it would. It went on longer than you expected it could. By the time you pulled away, you were both breathing heavily, your foreheads resting against each other, the air thick with the weight of what had just happened. You could feel the faint thrum of his heartbeat under your hand where it rested on his chest. In that moment, you knew you were close to him and needed him.

He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, but his eyes never left yours. There was no awkwardness between you. You understood each other, you accepted each other. You didn't need to say anything. The silence between you said it all.

At last, you knew you were where you were meant to be. The world outside of this moment didn't matter. The band, the crowds, the wreckage of your past – none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was here, now, with Ronin. And even though the music would continue to play, even though the world would continue to turn, for just a few minutes, the only thing that was real was the quiet between the two of you, the feeling of his breath on your skin, and the shared silence that told you everything you needed to know.

The kiss was the beginning. It ignited something between you. 

Ronin's lips still tasted of you, lingering in the cool air between you both as you stood there, bodies close but not quite touching. Your heart beat strongly in your chest, a steady rhythm that pulsed beneath the heavy silence. The weight of your lost boyfriend still sat on your shoulders, heavy like a stone you had carried for far too long. But now, there was something else. Something warm, new and undeniable was there, like the dawn breaking through the darkness.

You didn't know how it had happened, but you knew when you had crossed that line from mourning to moving on. And you could feel it now. Ronin is not a replacement, he is not a shadow of what you have lost. He was his own person, a force to be reckoned with, raw and real. The love you had for your late boyfriend still lingered, like the scent of old roses. But it wasn't the same kind of love anymore.

The quietness was a stark contrast to the pain of loss, but it was not overwhelming. It wasn't suffocating you, not like it once was. You could still see your late boyfriend in the corners of your mind and hear his voice in the back of your thoughts, but now it was distant and faded. A memory you can revisit, but not live in forever. You had been carrying that grief, that love, as if it was a burden. Now, with Ronin, you could set it down gently, just for a moment, and let it breathe. Breathe.

Ronin's eyes were fixed on you, searching, as if he too had felt the shift between you. His fingers twitched, a subtle movement as if he was waiting for you to speak. But there was nothing to say, not yet. You had to get the words out, but they were still tangled in your throat, wrapped around the pain of the past and the warmth of what you felt now. No words were needed, not now. The moment between you two stretched on, infinite in its quiet understanding.

You loved him. You felt it deep in your bones: this strange new love blossoming in the wake of the past. Ronin was not just a replacement. He was not something to fill the space that had once been occupied by your late boyfriend. He was more than just a replacement. He was something entirely new, a person you could breathe with, a person you could grow into. You still loved your late boyfriend, but you were ready to move on. It was a gentler, more transient feeling, like a memory you can touch but not hold onto forever.

Ronin was someone you could love. He was chaotic and calm, contradictory and passionate. In that quiet moment, you realised you had already begun. You had already allowed him in. Slowly but surely. The space in your heart that had once been filled with grief had, over time, made room for something else. Something living. Something was here with you in this moment, not a ghost but a presence.

The kiss was the first step. It was the breaking of something, the opening of a door that had been locked for far too long. But now, it was more than just a kiss. This was the start of something new. It wasn't about erasing the past; it was about building on it. Like roots stretching into the earth, reaching for something that will nourish you and heal you.

As you stood there with Ronin, you felt the world opening up to you, full of possibilities you'd not believed in for a long time. The pain was still there, but it didn't control you. It does not define you. It was just a part of you, and you could sit with it next to the love you were beginning to feel for him, for Ronin, without it drowning you.

You didn't need to replace or force love. It wasn't something to be filled; it was a space to grow, stretch and bend. And now, with Ronin, you can let it stretch. You can let it fill you up again, but in a way that doesn't erase the past. It will make room for the future. Ronin was not a ghost. He was not a shadow. He was real. He was here.

[toasted-strudel27]

This is an idea I got from someone on the roserot discord server and my first fanfic so sorry if it's bad 🥹 I'm just a lil silly guys 😋

Ronin x insecure gn!reader

Tags: Angst, degrading names, cursing, not any comfort I'm 99% sure

------------------------------------------------------------------

You were sitting alone in your room, curled up on your bed with your headphones/earbuds in. It was getting tiring, pretending to be what you are but aren't. You're a writer, not a killer, and yet here you were in a server full of them, playing a little acting game for the sake of a book. And he knew.

He damn well knew.

He invited you afterall, how could he not be aware?

But it was so fucking exhausting at this point, wasn't it? You knew who you were, you didn't know who you were, it was all a fucking crisis that you couldn't get a hold of. Who were you really? Were you even liked? Were they just pretending? What if it was just all an act, just like you?

Then your phone dinged, it was a message from Goreboy, Ronin, that damned killer you craved to validate you. He was the first interaction you had in the group after all, how could you not yearn for it?

Goreboy: still coming along I see?

Goreboy: it's Pathetic to see how you keep pushing on

Damn that hurt, didn't it? But he was right, it was pathetic wasn't it?

To keep pushing along despite how little progress, if any at all, was made.

You: What do you want, Ronin?

You: Is that all you ever do now, belittle and berate me like I'm nothing?

You: I get you might see little in me and I don't fit your desires for shit

You: But it still fucking hurts, you heartless jackass

You started at your phone, looking at the messages that you sent on pure autopilot.

You couldn't help it, could you?

Or perhaps you could've.

Could'a, would'a, should'a.

That's something he said once, wasn't it?

And yet, you can't get his goddamn name out of your head.

You can't get him out of your head, no matter how hard you wish for it.

Fuck.

The urge to give up is strong, you don't know who you are anymore. Did you ever really know, though? Did you ever have a proper identity to go by? It's hard to remember. It's all a blur.

Your phone chimes again, another response from Ronin.

You choose to ignore it, you can't take it anymore, you can't take his insults, his criticism, his revile words.

You were tired of him picking you apart like a toy to be destroyed.

Perhaps that's what you were, a toy. A puppet. A slave.

A canvas to be painted for every new painter who got a hold of you...

[dumjokes]

Ronin x a magical girl reader :p something like magical girl raising project if you ever seen it, love ronins pretty princess

Hihi! Thanks for the request! I haven't seen magical girl raising project but I looked up clips on Tiktok to try to get a understanding! I hope you enjoy it!

Sidenote: I might add more to this, I'm currently sick so it's not as long as I'd want it to be.

She/her pronouns used!! And just fill in the blank on some parts!

||RONIN BEAUFORT X READER||

Ronin thought he knew almost everything about his Writer Darlin', but he just found out he doesn't! She really did surprise him in the best ways especially since he just saw her transformation.

The color ______ that shined and circled around Y/n somehow adding clothes to her body?

Beautiful, what's even more beautifully done is the fact that his darling just helped him with his daily rounds of murder.

"Darling, that's a cute outfit! Are you going to keep killing people with kindness?" He asks looking at her outfit, the cutesy outfit she just transformed into was a __insert color__, and in her hands was a __insert weapon here___.

"You keep impressing me, Darlin'!" He chuckles, looking at her weapon of choosing.

"I can't believe you never told me you were magic!" He teases, putting a hand on her head messing up the magical hairstyle she had gained with the transformation.

"Haha! Some secrets keep relationships entertaining!" She responds back, laughing. Using her weapon on their newest victim, every swing gives way to another devastating crunch and snap of their bones, her magic starts helping her by increasing the damage.

Making the victims fatal injury worse, blood splatters on her outfit and to Ronin she looks absolutely divine covered in blood.

"Looking good Darlin', you should be covered in blood more often." He playfully whispers into her ear from behind, his 6'1 height towering over her. His arms wrapping around her shoulders as they stare at the body.

"Wanna find some other asshole to kill? Or do you wanna go home?" He asks, his arms still secured around her shoulders, as he places a kiss on her head. It's a comfortable peace for the both of them, as he guides them away.

"Either works!" She replies enthusiastically, her hand grabbing his arm and leaning onto him, dropping her weapon letting it float, as they slowly walk away from their freshest sin. Her weapon slowly floating behind them before disappearing Into nothingness.

[npookie0]

Soft Loving Sinners.

Angel x reader x Ronin, fluff, polyamory, tranphobes dni 🫶

Cws: spoilers for Angel's and Ronin's routes

You and Angel were just returning from your jobs, Angel from another modeling gig, and you from an interview. Your routes are usually connected so you just return home together. This time was the same, a cup of coffee in hand and casual chit chatter. You loved these small moments, cherished them and kept them close to your heart.

When you finally reached Angel's apartment, you two were caught by surprise when you heard death metal coming from her kitchen and smelled something delicious being cooked. With raised eyebrows you slowly approached said room just to see.... Ronin humming to the song while he's cooking something in a pan.

You knew that Ronin is an amazing cook, but you just never expected to see him randomly cook for you three.

"Oh Ro, felt that little househusband in you?" Angel asked with a giggle, crossing her arms over her chest.

Ronin turned to look at you two, a smirk glued to his face as he did so. "Yeah , someone has to take off the two overworked maniacs or they'll drown under work now." He replied and walked up to the two of you, a peck to your forehead. "I've prepared a lil somethin' you'll like it." He pointed towards the living room.

Curious, you and Angel went to the room and gasped in surprise.

Some furniture was moved around, the sofa was unfolded and practically disappeared under all the pillows and blankets on it, scented candles were everywhere and a small table with a bunch of snacks of it was in front of the sofa..

"Oh gosh, Ronin." Angel squealed in excitement and wrapped her arms around Ronin who followed behind you from the kitchen.

"you like it that much huh?" He raised an eyebrow and chuckled, then he looked at you.

You were filled with excitement, you always dreamt of something like this, just a time for relaxation with snacks, face mascs and a movie.

"Wow Ronin this is.... Amazing. Thank you." You said with a soft smile on your lips.

"Nah, anythin' for my darlings. Now get into somethin' comfy and watch a movie, 's an order 'cause I still hafta cook." He pinched your cheek and went back into the kitchen.

You looked at Angel, seeing her so excited made your heart beat faster. You didn't have time to admire her excited expression because she was already pulling you towards the bedroom so you could change your clothes.

With face masks on you were sitting in front of the TV and looking for a movie.

Ronin came into the room with two mugs in hands.

"What's that?" You asked.

"Jus' tea, to keep you nice and warm." He replied, setting the mugs on the table.

"Ro maybe you'll join us? It's no fun without you." Angel gave him a small pout for which he cackled.

"Awh, missin' me already Sant Maria? Sure darling I'll indulge you while dinner is cooking." Ronin sat in between the two of you.

And it was a mistake.

You immediately attacked him with a sheet face mask and Angel put a headband on him so his hair wouldn't get in the way.

Ronin just snickered when you were putting the masc on him, keeping his hand on your waist while you were hovering over him.

"Havin' fun there, darling?" He asked, eyebrow raised when you were done.

"Mhm! It was Angel's idea tho."

"Wow calling me out? You're so nice, love." Angel huffed and then giggled.

"Such a mastermind you are.". Ronin said to Angel and poked her side, earning an annoyed scoff from the woman.

You watched the scene in front of you, with a soft smile on your lips. You truly enjoyed this moment, spending time with your partners and seeing how stupidly comfortable and in love you all are. It felt like a dream, but it was reality.

Ronin was a good boyfriend, the best you probably ever had, yeah he's fucked up in his own ways, but he's not a terrible person to those close to him, or those who aren't about to get killed by his crowbar.

And Angel is an amazing girlfriend, yes she overworks herself and you and Ronin are trying your best to help her through it, but you can see how she needs and wants to help herself, she doesn't need you to do anything for her other than be there to support her, and that's beautiful. She's a sweet, loving person, but she is still a strong woman who's able to take care of herself when she is ready to do so.

And you? You are someone who's there to do their best to be their partner. Support Angel, but don't try to take over her life and decisions. Indulge Ronin, tell him if he's doing too much, but never think of him as an abuser or be transphobic.

And if you make these mistakes?

Then your peaceful relationship might end with you six feet deep underground.

Hey folks!

This fic was written solely to show Ronin's and Angel's good relationship because some people apparently can't read and understand what their favourite character is saying 🫶

If you think of Ronin as an abuser and of Angel as damsel in distress, please go replay the game but this time read and listen 🫶

And don't harass writers who call you out on your bullshit because being a minor doesn't change anything especially when the writer has "minors dni" in their bio 🫶

If you're a kid then give your phone back to your mama if you can't understand that fiction is fiction and harassing someone over that makes you the problem.

That's all

Bye bye 🩷

[6feathered6siren6]

Overworking till sickened

Tigger warnings

Death near the end

Ooc??

ཐི❤︎ཋྀ

For this past week, it seems like almost everything is after you. First, your boss is giving you so much more work, making you work overtime to just complete them. It’s been pouring constantly, and just today, you forgot it as it said that it would be clear by the time you left your job. Feeling your clothing stick onto your skin as you walk over to the convenience store. You sighed as you felt your back crack along with the breath in. You really just want to grab an easy dinner and go to sleep.

As much as you wanted to annoy Ronin back with revenge, that could be saved another time. You honestly felt too tired to do much after you got home. And after getting yelled at so many times, you were glad you have tomorrow off. As you got to the food isles, you got a text from your boss. 

Boss: <Need these files worked on by midnight, I know you left but get them done at home.>

You immediately wanted to bash your head in. This was the third time this week. You did not want to do this. Like you wanted him dead… wait no, you’re not a killer…  not yet, at least. And you know that you won’t make a hit for Misaki to pick up, as much as you would want to see her in person for the first time. You did not want your boss dead yet. You still have to be paid for your work. 

As you grab some frozen dinner and walk over to cash out for your items. Tying the bag to make sure your food wouldn’t be wet, you walked out back into the dreadful rain. As you walked your way back home, you were in thought, not paying attention to where you were walking and bumped into someone. 

“Watch where you are going, Dumbass— Well, well, well. If it isn’t you, Darlin’?” Speak of the fucking devil. As you looked up, it was Ronin, drenched in the rain as well. When he saw you, the smirk you always associated with Ronin was on his face. As much as you would like to bother him like any other day, you so much wanted to leave and finish up the work. “Damn, Darling. You looked like you just died and came back to life.”

You wanted to roll your eyes, but it must have been the fatigue setting in. All those late night workings and energy drinks must be kicking in. You watched your world almost black with a figure trying to catch you. 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

As you open your eyes, you see a white ceiling and red walls covered in slashers and knives. At first, it felt foreign to you. You swore you didn’t fall asleep here. Heck… You know that Ronin hasn't invited you to be at his house yet. As you sat up on his bed, you felt like your head was splitting into two. 

As you groaned, holding your head, a chuckle was heard from the door frame. “Mornin’, sleeping beauty.” You tried to look at him but with your headache, the light from the hallway felt like it was stabbing you. You groaned in pain when you looked away from him. “Damn… that's bad, huh? But what do you expect walking in weather like that. Or, working for corrupted capitalism and not giving the devil any attention. Could result in you being stuck on my bed.” 

“What… what time is it?” It hurts to speak out just a few words. With your sore throat and splitting headache, you regret walking in that storm, and those overtime hours you put in with your boss. You absolutely felt like shit. 

“Witchen hours, Darlin’.” So it was 3 am… wait… Your work! The assignment that was due at midnight! You tried to climb out of Ronin’s bed, but your limbs felt too heavy to move. As you shakenly stood up, your vision went black again, feeling hands on you, helping you stand for a bit as your vision went normal. “You already fell once, don’t need you to fall for the devil again. Now you need rest, no way, a snowflake in hell, letting you go. Knowing your hellborn stubborn mind, you are just gonna work while you’re like this until you drop dead.”

You were about to speak, but as you tried to say the first word, your throat rumbled into pain. Ronin sat you back down on his bed, and crossed his arms. 

“Serous, darlin’. With the way you seem right now, might as well kill your boss to make you take a week off.” You gave him a glare, and he knew what it meant. He just gave you that smug look you always received when you are peeved. Looking down at your lap, you were somehow in your own clothing on his bed, which was dryish. But you could feel the wrinkles on it. 

As you pulled your shirt, feeling uncomfortable, a hoodie was thrown onto your head. “Those can’t be comfortable, ain’t it?”

You pulled the hoodie off of your head, seeing the black hoodie in your hands. A soft sickly smile was pulled onto your lips. Then some light pink sweatpants were thrown onto the bed. Must have been one of Angel’s. At least she was closer to your size than the over 6 foot man. “Go and change here. I got some meds around here to help.”

He shut the door behind him. Leaving you alone in the red dimmed room. Changing swiftly, now out of the wrinkled clothing, you sat back on his bed. As he walked back in with a knock, he put meds into your hand, a cup of tea in the other. “Drink up and rest, Darlin’. The moment you are better, we are gonna talk. Don’t need you dying just yet.” 

He put his hand onto your head and shifted some of your hair out of your face. Then sat into his desk chair, staring at you as you took the meds and drank the tea. It was able to soothe your throat. 

“Thank you.” You looked at your cup. Knowing that if you fall, you have a devil to catch you and bring you back up.

⋆༺⸸⛧⸸༻⋆

A week after you got better, you were at your desk, working on you novel once more. You see a notification on the server. Specifically, “killer chat”, with your boss’s dead body there. He apparently didn’t take ‘No killing my boss’ seriously. Well, at least the email you got the next day said you had a few weeks off to mourn his death since you worked under him. 

The butcher got you the break you needed. Even if you told him no.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Alright, after like a few days, I got stumped and had to rewrite this. But I finished the overworked saga with a sick reader. I'm probably gonna work on oc x Ronin or Misaki next unless I get a request. Anyway, don't be like reader and overwork yourself. Get some rest, drink smth, eat smth.

Words: 1,133

[puzzledprose]

ronin x reader kc band au!!! maybe readers a fan or something

I’m a sucker for band AUs omg. I can imagine Angel as a vocalist, Ronin as a guitarist, V on the bass and Misaki playing drums. Their style would very much be something Vkei-esque with maybe some indie rock influence.

I also don’t feel like they would be a hugely popular band. They would probably be popular in their local scene, but otherwise pretty unknown. Also I find it a little more charming as an insufferable music person.

Band AU!Ronin x Fan!Reader

You two most likely met at one of Ronins shows. You had seen a flyer around for a band called “Slaughterhouse” and figured it couldn’t hurt to check it out. Best case scenario you find a new favourite band, worst case is that it stops you hunching in front of your laptop for a few hours.

The show was incredible. The band flowed together seamlessly, they each brought something unique to the performance, but one member caught your eye. Something about the band’s guitarist couldn’t help but grab at your attention. The way he carried himself in such a confident and indifferent way had you swooning.

But you weren’t fangirling, right? Of course you were.

Once the bands set was finished you took a small break and went to the venues bar to grab a drink. By the time you were seated and sipping on your drink of choice you noticed a certain crimson haired individual in the corner of your eye.

Internally you freaked out a bit before deciding to try and start up a conversation. Who knows? You might get lucky.

Somehow you managed to charm the boy. The conversation managed to flow easily. He challenged you with ridiculously casual flirting and you swung back with some snide remark. Still he left you on edge sometimes, effortlessly leading you along and blurring lines.

After some talking and probably an ill advised hookup let’s be real you two found yourselves committed! Which now means full time groupie duty for you. This usually involves working the merch stand or lending a helping hand during sound check, not that you kind of course.

Ronin loves it when you wear his merch btw. If he were someone else he would almost feel bad about how possessive it makes him.

He probably tries to teach you guitar, or if you already play an instrument he would love to jam with you!

That’s all for today! Hope you liked the fic. As much as I like Ronin he’s kinda scary to write lol.

[radiocarbon0]

Ronin being all edgy and shit (i saw this on Pinterest and was like 'yeah ronin would do this')

⬇️⬇️ HIM COLORED

STUPID EDGELORD TWINK

[cakewritez]

Cries of an Angel.

Reader is mostly reffered to as them, use of she once. Reader is gender fluid, and feels dysphoria. Feminine presenting to male presenting.

I based this off of my own experience, I know it's not the same for everyone, but hopefully someone out there feels the same way I do. <3

TW: GENDER DYSPHORIA, use of disturbing poetry, Ronin being ronin, the same warnings to killer chat apply here as well! HE DOESN'T HATE WOMEN GUYS HE JUST HAS A ROUGH BACKSTORY (without spoiling)

Gluttony Gods (another roserot game) spoilers!!

Ronin had asked you out on a little date, something that wasn't exactly fancy, but the two of you could spend time together and learn something new. That's all you really wanted anyways.

You put on one of your favorite skirts, applying makeup, and finally placing a perfect pretty bow in your hair. You were ready!

<goreboy> : U Ready?

<d4rlinMC> : yeah!

<goreboy> : come Outside

How ominous. But, that was Ronin.

You walked outside, making sure to lock your door, turn off all the lights and make sure all the doors were closed. A little habit that you developed from hanging with serial killers.

Ronin saw you and gave a low whistle. “There's my baby, dressed up like a lil’ fuckin doll.” He wrapped his hands around your waist, pressing kisses on your forehead.

“Ronin, cut it out!!” You giggled as you playfully pushed him away.

“Nah, m’gonna treat my partner the way she deserves.” He gave you another kiss before letting go.

That felt, off. You don't know what it was, maybe you were finally becoming aware of what was before you? A killer, you're dating a serial killer. No. . you love him and he loves you, besides, your way too far gone. It was something else making you uncomfortable.

You brushed it off and went with Ronin to your date.

You were watching Ronin point out the details of how a car runs to you, all the nooks and crannies as well.

You were paying attention, you were sure of it. All of a sudden something felt, off. Your hands ran down your chest a few times, it felt the same? Physically, but mentally it felt flat. Like, you were a guy.

You felt wrong.

Ronin took notice of this after you stopped responding to him, he looked, and scanned for what could be wrong.

You hastily grabbed your bow out of your hair, and desperately tried to wipe the lipstick of your lips, but it was no use.

He looked at your ruined state, your panicking oh so desperate state. He loved it.

But the Devil has its limits. Only you could be ruined by him.

He slid from under the car, and sat on the Dolly. He inched closer to you, hands placed on your face as he leaned in. Almost close enough to pres his lips against yours. However, he had other plans.

“Tell me what troubles you, is it.. that decaying femininity? You feel it dying in you? Rancid, festering girlhood? You feel it? "

His grip stayed tight on your face. His words, like an addictive drug from his lips to yours. He was telling the truth.

You nodded, tears prickling in your eyes. Your mind hazy with the thoughts of your insides not reflecting your outside. You're a guy, a dude,

And yet here you are, dressed in your 'decaying feminity.'

Ronin indulged in your tears, your sorrowful symphonies were a gift to him. A wonderful gift, if only Ther had realized this.

His words spew poison into your system, sickly sweet.

"Yeah? That's what it feels like? C’mon baby, I need words.”

You nodded hazily.

“That's it, let me infect you.”

Your lips closed the distance, agreeing to an unspoken deal.

A deal with the devil.

AN: I'M BACK ON THAT KC GRIND BABBEEYYY!! (≡^∇^≡)