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elysiaheaven · 2 days ago

Note

Maybe Ronin X cannibal reader? But the reader hides it and our fav boy discovers them in the middle of "grabbing dinner"?

Happy halloween!-Ronin x Cannibal reader!

TW: Blood, Gore, Cannibal (reader), Cannibal jokes, Mention of body parts etc

"Bon Appétit" — Ronin x Cannibal!Reader

Ronin always knew something was off about you. Not in a bad way—just different.

Maybe it was how you always turned down dinner invites with a lazy excuse, or how you avoided restaurants altogether like they were some kind of trap.

It was a quiet night. Too quiet for Ronin’s liking. Normally, by now, you'd be spamming his phone with some dumb memes or asking if he wanted to hang out. But you’d gone radio silent.

He moves silently, the familiarity of sneaking around fitting like a second skin. Crowbar tucked loosely in his hand, boots crunching against the dusty floor.

He rounds a corner, and there you are—squatted low, your back to him, hands deep inside a body that still twitches, like a machine winding down. Blood coats your hands, sleeves stained from wrist to elbow. And the sound—the wet, ripping tear of flesh and sinew—makes something stir in him.

You’re so focused that you don’t even hear him. It’s almost funny. Almost cute.

He leans against the doorway, a smirk slowly curling on his lips.

"Well, well, well… what do we have here?"

You freeze. Every muscle in your body locks up, heart slamming in your chest. For a brief, foolish second, you think about pretending. Saying it’s not what it looks like, that you tripped and—yeah, no, that won’t work. You’ve got chunks of someone’s kidney in your hands.

Slowly, you turn your head, blood splattered across your face, meeting Ronin’s amused, knowing gaze. And shit, the way he’s looking at you—it’s not disgust, not fear. It’s something far worse: entertainment.

"Grabbing dinner without me?" he teases, cocking his head. "Kinda rude, don’t you think?"

You blink, momentarily thrown off by the calmness in his voice. "This isn’t... It’s not—"

Ronin cuts you off with a sharp laugh, like the situation is the funniest thing he’s seen in weeks. "Relax, sweetheart. You’re not the only freak in the room."

He steps closer, the crowbar tapping lightly against his thigh. The corpse at your feet is still fresh—blood pooling across the floor, the metallic scent thick in the air. But Ronin? He doesn’t flinch.

"Didn’t think you had it in you," he muses, crouching next to the body. His dark eyes flick between the dead man and your stained hands with an expression that can only be described as impressed. "Guess I underestimated you, huh?"

You stare at him, mind scrambling for some kind of response—some way to salvage the situation. But Ronin’s grin only widens, like he’s already five steps ahead of you.

"So... you always eat 'em like this, or is tonight a special occasion?" His voice is playful, like he’s making small talk about the weather.

"Relax, sweetheart," he interrupted smoothly, crouching down beside the dismembered body, inspecting the work with genuine curiosity. "You didn't really think you could hide this from me forever, did you?"

You shot him a glare, though it felt more like a defense mechanism than anything. "It’s not what it looks like."

“Oh no, it’s exactly what it looks like." Ronin’s grin widened. He leaned closer, his voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper. "You’re a freak."

Your heart skipped, panic simmering beneath your skin. "Don’t tell anyone."

Ronin snorted, clearly amused by your fear. "Oh please. What am I, a snitch?" His plum-colored hair fell into his eyes as he tilted his head, studying your expression. "I’m not here to rat you out, babe. I'm here to see what makes you tick."

You didn’t know if that was more reassuring or terrifying.

Then he reached out, swiping his thumb across your cheek to wipe away a streak of blood. He held his thumb up, inspecting it like an artist admiring a brushstroke. “You’re messier than I thought you’d be. Kinda cute, actually.”

You slapped his hand away, scowling. "This isn't a joke, Ronin."

“Oh, it’s not?" His grin remained infuriatingly intact. "Could’ve fooled me. You're acting like this is some big shameful secret." He gave a mock gasp, eyes wide with exaggerated horror. "Oh no! Reader’s a cannibal!"

"Ronin—" You started, but he was already laughing.

"Relax, I’m not judging." He smirked, straightening up and brushing his hands off on his pants. “Not my place to tell you how to live your life. I mean…” His gaze flickered to the half-eaten remains. “At least you have good taste.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, exasperated. "You’re impossible."

“And you,” Ronin replied smugly, leaning in close enough that you could feel his breath against your neck, "are way too cute when you’re trying to look innocent."

Your stomach twisted—whether from embarrassment, guilt, or something much darker, you weren’t sure.

Ronin knew exactly what he was doing. Knew how to make your skin crawl and your heart race all at once. And the worst part? You liked it.

He clicked his tongue, patting your cheek with mock affection. "Don’t worry, sweetheart. Your little secret’s safe with me."

he turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder, tossing you one last grin.

"You know, if you were hungry... you could've just told me."

Your breath catches, caught between the weight of his words and the dangerous glint in his eye. He tilts his head, watching your reaction with interest, like you’re some puzzle he can’t wait to solve.

"Next time," Ronin says, dragging the crowbar lightly across the floor, "let me help."

Your heart stutters at the offer—half a threat, half a promise.

Then, as casually as if he’s offering to grab takeout, he adds, "I’d love to see how you do it up close."

You blinked, stunned into silence, as he sauntered off into the night—like walking in on a literal crime scene was just another Tuesday.

And somehow, you knew—without a doubt—that this wasn’t the last time Ronin would come snooping around about this.

The next time you saw Ronin, he came bearing… gifts.

The sun had barely set when you heard a knock—three soft taps against the flimsy metal door of the same old building you'd started using as your… dining room. You knew it was him before you even opened it. Only Ronin knocked like he owned the damn place.

And sure enough, there he stood on the other side, a mischievous grin stretching across his lips. But what made your stomach drop (or maybe growl) was what—or who—he had slung over his shoulder.

"Look what I found," Ronin said cheerfully, like he was showing off a stray dog. "Nice and fresh."

The man groaned—still alive, barely—but Ronin adjusted his grip on him like he was nothing more than luggage.

You stared. "Ronin, what the hell—?"

"Relax," he cooed, brushing past you like this was some kind of surprise party. He dumped the man onto the floor with a careless thud, crouching beside him to give the guy’s cheek a little pat. "This one won’t be missed. Scumbag. Thought I’d save you the trouble."

You crossed your arms, feeling a mix of dread and something uncomfortably close to excitement swirl in your gut. "You’re really okay with this?"

Ronin shot you a sly grin, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Let’s just say… I’ve got a flexible moral code." He stood, nudging the guy with the toe of his boot. "Besides, I figured—if you're going to do this, might as well have some company, right?"

The man groaned again, half-conscious, as Ronin turned to you. His gaze softened just a little—just enough to make your stomach flip. "You gotta eat, babe."

You swallowed thickly. "I don't think—"

Ronin stepped in close, tilting his head so his lips were almost brushing your ear. "C’mon, sweetheart. No use playing shy now. You’ve already got blood on your hands."

His voice was low, warm—like a devil tempting you to cross the line you were already standing on. And the worst part? You wanted to. You really wanted to.

He leaned back, hands in his pockets, watching you with that lazy grin. "Or do I need to feed you myself?"

You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder. "I can handle it, idiot."

"That's the spirit," he chuckled, stepping aside to give you room to work. "Now let’s see those culinary skills in action."

The hunger gnawed at you, sharp and insistent, and before you knew it, you were crouching beside the man, the world narrowing down to the sound of his shallow breaths and the promise of iron on your tongue.

Ronin crouched next to you, utterly unbothered as you began. His hand brushed lightly against your back—comforting, almost affectionate—as if this were some intimate little date instead of… well, this.

He stayed close, watching with fascination as you fed, his smirk never wavering. When you paused to catch your breath, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, he tilted his head and grinned.

"You look good like this, y’know."

"Shut up," you muttered, though the heat in your face betrayed you.

He rolled his sleeves up lazily, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "Alright, sweetheart. Open wide."

You shot him an incredulous look, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "I can feed myself, Ronin."

"Yeah, yeah. But where’s the fun in that?" he teased, plucking a choice piece from the victim’s bloodied arm like he was sampling charcuterie at some upscale event. "C’mon, let me spoil you a little. You earned it."

The way his voice dipped sent a chill down your spine—like this was a game to him, and you were the star of his twisted little fantasy. It was equal parts infuriating and… intoxicating. He was good at that, pulling you in just enough to leave you breathless, unsure whether you wanted to kiss him or hit him.

"Ronin—"

Before you could protest further, he pressed the piece of flesh against your lips, grinning wickedly. "Say ‘ahh.’"

You glared, but the hunger gnawed at you relentlessly, and damn it—he looked so pleased with himself, like this was the most romantic thing he could do. With a heavy sigh, you parted your lips. His smirk widened.

"There we go," he murmured, almost reverently, as he slipped the morsel into your mouth. "Tastes better when someone feeds you, right?"

The warmth of the meat, the metallic tang still lingering on your tongue—it sent shivers down your spine. But the worst part wasn’t the taste. It was him. The way he looked at you with a blend of admiration and possession, like you were his favorite meal.

"Good, yeah?" he whispered, as if he needed the confirmation.

You bit down slowly, savoring the taste and the strange thrill of it all. He watched every movement—eyes dark and full of satisfaction—like he'd just pulled off the most intimate act in the world. And maybe, in his twisted way, he had.

"See?" he whispered, wiping a stray drop of blood from your lip with his thumb. "Told you I’d take care of you."

You swallowed, the heat in your chest spreading, equal parts shame and satisfaction.

"You're enjoying this way too much," you muttered, voice low.

Ronin just chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. "And you love that about me."

And as much as you hated to admit it… he wasn’t wrong.

He fed you again, slow and deliberate, like this was some dark, sacred ritual between the two of you. Each bite came with a grin, each touch a silent promise—he would never judge you for what you were. Hell, he loved it. He thrived on it, the corruption, the intimacy, the shared depravity.

When the meal was over, you leaned back, exhaling a shaky breath. Ronin wiped your mouth again, his touch lingering.

"Feel better?" he asked, his voice low and warm.

"Yeah," you admitted reluctantly.

His grin widened, a spark of triumph flashing in his eyes. "Good." He leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear. "Next time, I’ll pick someone even better."

You knew you should feel horrified. You knew you should push him away. But instead, you smiled.

"Deal."

Now, you know Ronin wasn't the man of his words. He's a snitch. That just told your secret to Angel, You know both of them were close, You just felt happy Ronin could share some things from his chest.

But, he did snitch you.

Happily, Angel was your type so, same blood in the same habit?

Later in the server. In the channel where all past Ronin's past and present love interests reside (literally)

#ur-angel-or-yuor-devil-or writer darlin who's a maneater

[Angelic]- I can't believe you're actually a cannibal y/n...

[You]- Fucking Beaufort.

[Goreboy]- Darlin, you Have a Friend now. Angel will be very happy right now. she has gotten a new best friend.

[Angelic]- Don't bully them, Ronin.

[Goreboy]- I'm not, This just Made Y/n x 666 Interesting! I have a new Goal.

[You]- lemme guess, another 666 kills?

[Goreboy]- Ding Ding, Have you ever eaten a detective? Your deduction skills are ultimate. You're Right, But, It's for you. 666 kills for you darlin! Be prepared. As a good Boyfriend it's only Valid that I gift you something Like this. Mark NeXT's year V-day.

[You]- .......................

[Angelic]- Never thought, He will become seriously damned this much.

[Goreboy]- Tho, It's interesting how the past lover and the present lover is both Cannibal. My god this is a miracle.

[Angelic]- Hey, Y/n? Have wanna the devil for dinner? He's speaking too much isn't he?

[You]- Be my guest angel, Also yes.

[Goreboy]- Getting Eaten by Two Angels. No Thank You. This is such a Boring Way to Die.

[You]- then just shut the fuck up edgy-boi

[Goreboy]- You Have to Face my Bullshit Darlin, Be prepared from now On, Cause shit- you need to realize it's a Lifetime relationship.

[You]- Thank god, I took lessons from Miss Ai hua to deal with people like you. Apparently she used to use memes to shut up Mr. Vince,

[Goreboy]- Oh? You think A meme? can Stop me?

[You]- I believe it's the person in the meme is our god 'twink'

[Angelic]- I get it.

[You]- Ronin, I love you but God Christ, Please shut up for now.

If you speak tormenting me and angel, I will compare you to JD because of the twink reason. If you think the meme was unfunny. I wasn't talking about the meme Mr. Beaufort.

[Goreboy]- ........

I cease.

Congrats, you made the devil to shut up! HAPPY HALLOWEEN LOSER!

#ronin beaufort x reader #ronin killer chat #killer chat ronin #ronin x reader #ronin beaufort #killer chat vn #killer chat angel #killer chat #killer chat x reader #killer chat ronin x reader

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elysiaheaven · 3 days ago

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(You definitely don’t know me from the server shhhhh)

Okay hear me out. Ronin with. With a trans guy reader who is a total fucking simp. Absolutely obsessed to the point that it’s unhealthy. Follows him around irl and in chat like a puppy

Perchance

finally a request like this. Man, i love you/p

The hum of your phone screen glows against your face as you scroll through the messages in the group chat, your thumb hovering just above the keyboard. Ronin’s last text is pinned at the top like a beacon—a snarky, careless thing he dropped hours ago. "Bored. Someone entertain me. Or don’t. I’ll live."

Your heart skips just reading it. The rest of the chat moves fast—memes, shitposts, stupid jokes—but all you care about is when he’ll type again. He’s addictive, like a song you can’t stop playing on repeat, no matter how sick it makes you.

You’re already perched on his every word like a moth to a flame, hanging on for that next little crumb of attention. It's pathetic, really—you know that—but you’ve long stopped caring.

Because it's Ronin. He breathes chaos and leaves a trail of destruction, but to you, every step he takes is gold. You follow him in real life, too. Not in a creepy, serial-killer way, no—just… close. Close enough that he knows you’re there, always orbiting him like a loyal moon to his sun. You’re his shadow, and you love it that way.

Some people would call this obsession. Maybe they’d be right. But it’s not like you care. It’s Ronin, after all. You don’t know how it started—when that fascination began to bloom and curl around your brain like ivy—but now it feels like he’s embedded under your skin, and the idea of pulling him out makes you itch.

You trail him everywhere, half on instinct. When he leaves the garage, you’re there. When he starts up his bike, you’re already climbing onto yours, a silent tail. When he’s at the diner, you're sitting two booths over, scrolling your phone with one ear always tuned to the sound of his voice.

And when he’s online, of course you’re in the chat. He notices you, sometimes—throws you a bone with a sarcastic message or some mocking pet name. The attention? It’s intoxicating.

You live for the crumbs.

Headcanons

Ronin knew from the moment you started hanging around him like a shadow that you were obsessed. And god, does he love it. He can smell your obsession from a mile away—the way your eyes light up whenever he so much as glances at you. It’s like a drug to him.

You don’t even try to hide it. If Ronin’s got something to do—whether it’s fixing a car, hanging out at the shop, or even just running errands—you’re right there. Arms crossed, wide-eyed, fidgeting with excitement as you follow him like a lovesick puppy.

“You always this clingy, or is it just me?” he’d smirk. And when you stammer, his grin just widens. Oh, he lives for the way your face heats up every time he teases you.

“I—I just like being around you…”

“Yeah, I bet you do.”

In group chats, it’s even worse. You blow up the server with messages directed solely at Ronin—memes, jokes, random questions about his day. Even if no one else responds, it doesn’t matter. You’re laser-focused on him, waiting for even the smallest crumb of attention.

When Ronin finally sends a “👍,” you light up like it’s the best thing to ever happen. And ohhh, he notices.

“Damn, dude, I send one emoji and you’re already planning our wedding?”

You, typing faster than light: “I would actually marry you, no lie.”

“I know.”

Ronin plays it cool—smug as hell—but it feeds something deep inside him ego, too. He likes being adored, needed. He likes knowing that you’d do anything for him.

And yeah, it’s kind of messed up, but he leans into it—leaving little breadcrumbs just to see how far you’ll go.

"What, you gonna follow me to the bathroom too?" he says with a raised brow. And you? You'd consider it.

The power imbalance? Oh, it’s palpable. And Ronin? He owns it. He sees how much you crave him and revels in it—letting his words hang just long enough to keep you chasing after more.

But every now and then, he throws you a bone. A rare smile, a lazy “good boy” when you’ve been particularly helpful, or even a hand through your hair when you’ve been good. And it wrecks you. Completely.

“You’re so easy to please, y’know that?” he mutters, smirking down at you. And the worst part? He’s absolutely right.

When Things Get Messy…

There are times when your obsession starts to wear at Ronin’s patience—not that he’d ever tell you outright. Instead, he pushes boundaries, seeing how far you’ll bend before you break. He loves testing people, and you’re no different.

“You ever think of getting a hobby that’s not me?” he’ll ask, leaning in with that smug, infuriating grin. And you’ll just shake your head, dead serious.

“You are my hobby.”

Sometimes, he ghosts you for a day or two—just to see how you’ll react. And predictably, you fall apart, blowing up his messages and spiraling in chat until you finally get that one-word reply.

“Relax, I ain’t dead.”

You cling to that message like it’s air after drowning. And Ronin? He’s grinning on the other end of the screen.

But there’s a limit to his games. He’s not heartless, after all. If he ever senses you truly spiraling—if the obsession starts tipping into dangerous territory—he reins it in, albeit in his own way.

“Alright, kid, c’mere.” He’ll grab your wrist and pull you in close, hand on the back of your neck, holding you still until you stop shaking. “You’re not gonna lose me, yeah? I’m not going anywhere. Breathe.”

The truth? Ronin always knew you were obsessed. It wasn’t even subtle. From the way your messages filled his notifications to the way you hovered just a bit too long at the shop, fidgeting with your hands, waiting for any scrap of attention he threw your way. You were everywhere—IRL, in chat, maybe even haunting his dreams if he had any.

And the worst part? He loved it.

“Didn’t think you’d show up today,” Ronin says, voice low and smug as you stand awkwardly in the doorway of the garage. You’ve been standing there for twenty minutes—he knows, because he was counting. Just watching you fidget like a lovesick idiot until he couldn’t take it anymore and had to drag you in by your metaphorical leash.

“Of course I showed up,” you say a little too fast, cheeks burning under his gaze. “I always show up.”

He hums, tilting his head, the corner of his mouth curling into that infuriating smirk that makes your heart race. “Yeah, you do.”

Your stomach twists in a knot. That mix of shame and excitement blooms in your chest, and you shift on your feet, fingers drumming anxiously against your thigh. He knows, and worse than that, he enjoys it.

Ronin leans casually against the workbench, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag, his dark plum hair messy beneath his beanie. “What’re you after, puppy? You need somethin’, or you just here to follow me around again?”

Puppy.

You hate how much you love that nickname—hate how it makes your skin prickle with heat, how your mind blanks when he calls you that like it’s normal. It makes you feel pathetic, and Ronin knows it.

But God, you don’t care. You live for it.

“I—uh—” You stammer, stumbling over your words. There’s a wrench in his hand, and somehow, he looks hotter holding it than any human being should. “I just—wanted to see you.”

His grin widens, teeth showing now like a predator cornering his prey. “That so?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

Ronin chuckles, low and dangerous, and takes a step closer—slow, deliberate. He’s enjoying this way too much. “Y’know, most people’d call this stalking.”

You flinch, heat burning the back of your neck. “I—I’m not stalking.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “So what do you call it then?”

You chew your lip, heart pounding so hard you swear he can hear it. “I—”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” He’s right in front of you now, close enough that you can smell the faint scent of cigarettes and motor oil clinging to him. His gaze is heavy, like he’s trying to peel you apart and see what makes you tick. And damn it all, you like it.

“No,” you admit softly, barely above a whisper. It’s pathetic, really, how easily you fold under his gaze. “I can’t.”

Ronin hums, like that’s exactly what he expected. His fingers tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “That’s cute, y’know. In a sad, fucked-up way.”

Your breath catches, and for a second, you think your legs might give out. You’re so screwed.

“Tell you what,” Ronin murmurs, his voice a low purr against your ear. “Stick around. Maybe I’ll throw you a bone if you’re good.”

Your knees nearly buckle at that.

Later, in the group chat, it only gets worse.

You: u were so cool today i think i might die fr Ronin: [🎥: “This idiot said they’d die if I breathed at ‘em.”] Uploaded to the server bot. Looping.

Angel: 💀💀💀 this is like watching a car crash in slow motion V: The simping is unreal. Stop this madness immediately. Misaki: lmfaooo you deserve this humiliation ngl

You bury your face in your hands as the bot repeats your voice for the fourth time—“u were so cool today i think i might die fr”.

And Ronin? Ronin’s grinning ear to ear, kicking back as chaos unfolds, thoroughly enjoying your downfall.

“See, puppy?” His message pings in chat. “Told you I’d throw you a bone.”

And despite the overwhelming embarrassment, all you can do is type back:

You: i hate u so much rn

And then:

You: see u tomorrow? 🥺

#killer chat ronin #ronin beaufort x reader #ronin killer chat #ronin beaufort #ronin x reader #killerchat #killer chat vn

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elysiaheaven · 26 days ago

Text

"Pure Insatiablity"-[𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓-𝟏] 𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍 𝐗 𝐆.𝐍 (Yandere) 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 (𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐓)

Words:6078

Genre: Yandere

Summary: It’s been almost eight months now, hasn’t it? Eight months of being wrapped in this obsession, this love that’s taken root so deep inside you. Eight months of loving him—so much it hurts, so much it feels like you're suffocating under the weight of it.

And when you stare at the screen, when you think about that character—the one your fans can’t get enough of—what you really see is him. Your love. Your darling. The one you’d do anything for.

( Reader is a g.n!)

TW: Obsessive behaviour, Lovesick, Blood, Violence, Crazy! Your daily dose of cringe! (He's crazy ><), (Reader is obsessive in love with him) Mentions of disturbing poetic lines?

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named Killer chat! Please play it! It's so good! I think I need to do more research on him, If what I wrote doesn't really scream him! I'm sorry! I'm still learning abt him! I KNOW IT'S BAD I'M SORRYY!!

I think you’re getting a little too in love...

C'mon! Tell me what you want. Do you hate me? Do you love me? Are you going to kill me? I've got a knife right here. Or are you kissing me, darling? How much do you feel?

Oh, you're so pretty when you're rotten and mine. I think you're divine.

Oh, Writer… How’s your relationship with the infamous butcher?

"Bad," you whisper under your breath, eyes glued to the blank page in front of you. The clock ticks, the hours pass, and nothing. Not a single word for days. And it stings, doesn’t it? Because your book—it’s your baby, your obsession—your masterpiece. It was an instant hit, loved, adored, and devoured by everyone who touched it. Fans left comments, raving about how perfect it was. Especially… him.

The e-emo killer. Your devil, wrapped in leather and shadows, blood-stained hands that still look so gentle. They called him cruel, twisted—yet oh, how they love him. Adored him. Fawned over him. The simps flooded your inbox, begging for more of him. That beautiful, wicked boy who haunted their dreams.

And let’s be honest—you love him too, don’t you?

After all, isn’t he just a reflection of someone else? Someone you know all too well?

Didn’t you mold the character from your darling’s essence? That man you can’t stop thinking about, the one who holds your heart in one hand and your throat in the other? The one you’d bleed for, die for—kill for?

Ah… you’re getting a little lovesick, aren’t you?

It’s been almost eight months now, hasn’t it? Eight months of being wrapped in this obsession, this love that’s taken root so deep inside you. Eight months of loving him—so much it hurts, so much it feels like you're suffocating under the weight of it.

And when you stare at the screen, when you think about that character—the one your fans can’t get enough of—what you really see is him. Your love. Your darling. The one you’d do anything for.

Isn’t that the truth? Isn’t that why your heart races, your fingers tremble when you write about the killer’s knife, the way it gleams in the dark? Because you imagine him—your love—doing the same to you, don’t you?

After all, isn't that why you can’t look away, can’t stop thinking, can’t breathe without feeling like you need him more than air?

Ah, calm yourself, love.

Eight months in, and look at you…

You want him. God, you want him so much it hurts. It’s like a sickness, spreading through your veins, consuming every inch of your soul. It’s the kind of need that claws at your heart, gnaws at your bones, turns your very breath into poison if he’s not near.

How did it get this bad? How did it go from quiet glances to full-blown obsession?

It started small, didn’t it? Little things—his voice in your ear, the calls, the games, the way his fingers brushed against your skin. The way he’d laugh, low and dark, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you. He’s always known, hasn’t he? How to bend you, break you, make you his.

But it’s more than that now. It’s an ache, deep in your chest, that never goes away. You crave him. You crave the way he looks at you like he sees every part of you—every ugly, twisted piece of your soul—and he loves it. You crave the way he owns you, how his presence alone makes you tremble, how just the thought of him drives you mad.

You can’t stop thinking about him. He’s there in every corner of your mind, lingering, waiting, watching. And you want him to watch. You want him to see every broken, desperate part of you. You want to lay yourself bare before him, beg for his touch, for his gaze, for his breath on your skin.

It’s pathetic, isn’t it? But oh, you’d fall to your knees for him. You’d give him everything. You already have.

You think about him late at night, when the world is quiet, and all you can hear is the sound of your own heart pounding, heavy and relentless. You imagine him with you, his hands on your neck, his lips hovering just inches from yours. You’d let him take you apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but his name carved into your bones, his scent burned into your skin.

You want him like fire. Like a storm. You want him with the kind of madness that doesn’t make sense, that drowns you, suffocates you in its wake. Every breath you take without him feels empty, incomplete.

He’s in your blood now, a part of you, and nothing will ever be enough. No touch, no kiss, no word will ever fill that void.

And the worst part? You love it. You love this sickness, this hunger, this desperate, gnawing ache. Because it’s him. Because it’s all for him.

He could ruin you, break you, destroy everything you are, and you’d thank him for it.

Isn’t that what you want? To be his? To be consumed by him, devoured until there’s nothing left of you but the pieces he chooses to keep?

It’s almost poetic, isn’t it? This love, this madness, this obsession. You, the writer, trying to put words to something that can’t be explained. Trying to capture this wild, violent need that swells inside you every time you think of him.

But how can you? How do you describe something so raw, so feral? How do you put into words the way your heart skips a beat every time you hear his name? The way your entire world tilts on its axis when he’s near?

You want him. Need him. More than you’ve ever needed anything in your life.

And you wonder… Does he know? Does he know how deep this goes? Does he understand that you’d do anything—everything—for him?

You think he does. You think he knows exactly how far you’ve fallen. And that’s what makes it so beautiful.

Because you’re not afraid of falling.

You understood him so much! Yet, you still...wanted him..?

The thing about Ronin is that his love is a poison wrapped in sugar, sweet to taste but deadly beneath the surface. He treats the same, as if they’re fragile toys in his hands, waiting to be bent, broken, and reshaped into something more. They’re not people to him—they’re puzzles to solve, games to play, and he plays them masterfully. Not out of cruelty, though. No, Ronin’s twisted mind justifies it as something deeper, something almost… noble.

He believes, with every fiber of his being, that he’s doing what’s best for them. That through the trials, the manipulation, the pain, they’ll emerge better—stronger. In his distorted way of thinking, he’s saving them, guiding them through the fire so they can burn away their weaknesses and be reborn into something new, something better. It’s not just a game to him—it’s a transformation. A test of endurance, of strength, of who they really are underneath it all.

This is how he shows his love. Not with tenderness, but with torment. He pulls at the strings of their souls, slowly unraveling them, watching them fall apart, believing—hoping—that by the time he’s done, they’ll thank him for it. That they’ll see what he sees: a person made whole again, remade into something that can survive in his world.

he’s doing the same with you, thinking that they’ll understand in the end, that this suffering is love in its purest form. To Ronin, it's not just affection—it's salvation.

It’s not enough for him to possess them; he has to break them. Only then can he feel secure in his love, believing they’re exactly who they’re supposed to be. That’s the only way he knows how to love. By tearing them down, by forcing them through the darkness… he thinks he’s giving them a gift.

A gift wrapped in shadows.

It’s been six days.

Six agonizing days without him. No messages, no calls, not even a single “Hey.” He’s not replying. He’s not talking. He’s … online tho. Why? Why is he doing this to you? You want to see him, you need to hear his voice again, but there’s nothing. The silence is eating at you, clawing at your insides, making your mind spiral.

Control it. Control yourself, you keep telling yourself. They don’t need to see it. They don’t need to know how much this is wrecking you. But it’s getting harder to hide. Everyone’s worried. Even they’ve started to notice how quiet you’ve become. How different you are without him.

Except for Ronin. He doesn’t care. He never does. In fact, with that stupid ego of his, he’s been trying to make you jealous these past few days. And you can feel it—every little jab, every smug comment—it’s uncanny how well he knows how to hit your nerves. But no matter how much Ronin gets under your skin, it’s not him you care about.

It’s him.

And it’s not just Ronin. V and Angel have been suggesting things, too. Methods to… fix things. One of them even had the audacity to suggest separating from him. A clean break. “Maybe it’s for the best,” they said, as if they understood. As if they could possibly know how much you need him.

But you hate the idea. You despise it. The thought of being separated from him—it’s like a knife twisting in your gut. You thought he wouldn’t want that either. He wouldn’t, right?

But to your shock—right there, in the middle of the voice chat, without any hesitation, he said it.

“Yeah, I can stay away for six weeks. That’s fine.”

Six weeks. You could barely process it. Your heart stopped. The number felt like it was mocking you, taunting you. Of all numbers, six? It was so… him. The devil’s number, the one he always played with. You almost smiled, almost thought it was cute—almost. But there was nothing cute about this. No, this was pure torture.

How could he say that so casually? Like it didn’t even matter. Like he wasn’t tearing you apart inside.

Because you need him. You really need him. And you thought—no, you were certain—he needed you too.

But here he is, agreeing to stay away. Six long, suffocating weeks without him. How are you supposed to survive that? How are you supposed to breathe, to think, to function without him? He’s your everything, your entire world, and now he’s just… gone?

You hate it. You hate every second of it. Every second without him feels like a lifetime, a slow, agonizing descent into madness. And you can’t help but wonder—what if he doesn’t miss you like you miss him? What if this is easier for him than it is for you?

But no—no. You know he feels the same way. You have to believe that. He’s just playing his part, the devilish role he always slips into so easily. After all, isn’t that what he is? Just a stupid guy who roleplays as the devil. That’s all, right?

But then why does it hurt so much? Why do you feel like you’re unraveling, coming apart at the seams without him?

And without him, you feel like you’re losing a part of yourself.

Six days. Six weeks. Six months. It doesn’t matter. Time feels meaningless when he’s not around, when you can’t feel him, can’t hear him, can’t touch him.

You miss him.

To help you cope, the entire server of serial killers—now your closest group of buddies—created a separate group chat. One without Ronin. It was for your own good, they said. To keep you distracted, keep you sane, while you waited for him.

Angel didn’t want to include Luca or Feli, though. You knew why. They’d just gotten into a relationship, and seeing them happy together might upset you even more. The jealousy would gnaw at you, and Angel, despite her sharp edges, was too considerate to do that to you.

So now it’s just you, Angel, Misaki, and V—the four besties. Well, they’re worried, no doubt about that. You can feel it in every message, every forced joke. Everyone’s trying to keep things light, but the concern bleeds through.

Just like Vince said… it’s destructive and toxic, right? This obsession you have with Ronin. But then again, Feli said it best—it’s not just toxic. It’s all three. Passionate, chill, horrific—a twisted cocktail of emotions that you can’t escape from. It’s suffocating, it’s addictive, and you know it.

But it’s so you, isn’t it?

Angel—the elegant femme fatale.... Some even say she’s a cannibal just for fun, and she plays along. She’s the type that captivates hearts effortlessly, pulls you in with a glance. If you were with her, maybe you could’ve seen the light, stepped away from this madness. Maybe you’d be happier, calmer… safe.

But no. Your heart is too far gone. Your ideals have shifted, haven’t they? Now you’re lost in the darkness, enthralled by your own version of the seven deadly sins.

Misaki, the cute, chaotic mess. The drunken assassin for hire, always too hyper for her own good. She kills with a smile, pays her rent with blood money, and somehow makes it seem so… effortless. But beneath all that bubbly energy, you know she’s just trying to survive, like the rest of you.

Then there’s V. Rigid. Just. Moral, in his own twisted way. The boomerang uncle who believes in his heart that his justice comes through killing. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t flinch, and somehow, that moral code of his feels strangely comforting. Like if you were ever to lose yourself completely, he’d be there to rein you back in. Or at least try to.

They’re all on the call now—talking, laughing, trying to pull you into the conversation. But you’re not really there. Your heart isn’t. You nod, give half-hearted replies, but all you can think about is him.

You just want Ronin. Already.

Their voices blur together in the background, but your mind keeps drifting back to him. That silence. Six days. Six weeks. Whatever. It’s driving you insane. You need him, need his voice, his presence. No matter what distractions they throw at you, nothing fills that void he left behind.

You sigh deeply, staring at the screen. They don’t understand. They can’t.

Everyone is talking at once, their voices flooding the call, trying to drown out the quiet chaos in your mind. Misaki’s high-pitched laughter cuts through the noise first, followed by V’s calm, grounding voice, and then Angel’s teasing but kind remarks, all woven together in an attempt to cheer you up.

V, always trying to keep things steady, eventually turns the conversation towards your writing. “How’s that new book coming along?” he asks, the one he’d helped inspire, no less. “The story about that ‘good man who kills for justice.’ I thought you had a pretty solid start.”

You blink, snapping back to reality. The new book. Right. The one with the protagonist who’s supposed to be a "good man" who kills for justice, fighting against corruption with a moral code as rigid as V’s. You want to write it, you really do. But every time you sit down to start... your thoughts drift. To him.

But you can’t help it—your mind wanders back to Ronin. The story might be about someone else, a character of pure moral code, someone who kills for justice like V had imagined. But all you see, all you feel as you try to write, is him. Ronin, with his smirk, his chaotic energy, how he gets under your skin and stays there. He’s nothing like the character in your new book, and yet, he’s the only thing you can think about.

He’s your muse, your obsession—your devil incarnate. And you almost laugh at the thought. Isn’t that just who Ronin is? A creator of chaos, a devil in your head, inspiring you even when he doesn’t mean to. A part of you is frustrated—he doesn’t even fit this new story, but somehow, he’s taken over anyway.

But you sigh, leaning back in your chair. "I... I just don’t feel inspired right now." You don’t want to admit it, but everything you want to write seems to tie back to Ronin, no matter how hard you try to focus on something else. He’s in everything you do, like an ever-present shadow.

Angel’s voice cuts through. "Of course, you’re not inspired. You’re too clingy right now, and it’s all because of him. You’ve gotta let it go for a bit; otherwise, it’ll just boost Ronin’s ego, and you know he lives for that."

You can’t help but chuckle weakly at that. She’s right—Ronin would love knowing he’s got you wrapped around his little finger, knowing you’re craving his attention this much. But you don’t care. You want to be wrapped up in him, and the thought doesn’t bother you one bit. Still, you don’t say that out loud. You don’t want to admit to everyone how deep your feelings run for him.

Instead, you steer the conversation somewhere else, tossing around random comments and joking with them. Misaki pipes up, practically bouncing in her seat as she talks about her latest commission. “So, get this—I nailed the shot perfectly. One kill, clean. And with that, rent’s paid for this month!” She laughs, but you can hear the relief in her voice.

You can’t help but tease her. “Next month’s going to come around quicker than you think, though,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

She whines dramatically, clutching her head. “Noooo! Don’t remind me! I’ll need another commission soon or I’m doomed!” Her pout is cute, and you laugh despite yourself. Misaki’s a mess, but she’s your mess (friend!).

Angel snorts. “I feel that. Work’s been tight, but I’m okay for now. Barely.”

Then there’s V,. “I’ve been busy taking care of my birds lately. They’re a handful,” he says, the warmth in his voice clear. He pauses for a moment before adding, “Still... I respect you. Always have. You’ve got this pure heart. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Ronin mess that up for you. Him trying to make you feel like this—it pisses me off.”

You smile at that, appreciating his words. But deep down, you can’t help but think, Pure? Is that really what you are anymore? After everything with Ronin, after letting yourself fall so deep into this twisted, all-consuming love, are you still that pure-hearted person V thinks you are?

Because honestly... haven’t you already started slipping? Saving parts of yourself just for Ronin?

Angel’s voice breaks through the light banter, her usual teasing tone softened with concern. “I’m worried about you,” she says, her words pointed, cutting through the surface-level chat. “This thing with Ronin… it’s not good for you.”

You don’t respond, just sit there silently, staring at the screen, your mind lost somewhere far from the conversation. V, ever the protective one, comes to your defense as usual. “Come on, Angel. They wouldn’t hurt a fly,” he says with a sigh, glancing at you. “Right?”

You don’t say anything, and V’s expression darkens just slightly. The silence weighs heavier than your words could. “Look,” V adds, more serious now. “If you ever killed anyone for Ronin, if you ever did it for some guilty pleasure, it’d be your first and last. Because I would kill you myself.” His voice is firm but caring, like a friend! trying to protect you from something you might not even see coming.

You snap out of your daze for a moment, glancing at V. “I just won’t let you,” you reply quietly, a ghost of a smile playing on your lips. There’s a defiance in your voice, but it’s laced with that lovesick longing. You’d do anything for Ronin. And V knows it.

Misaki, sensing the tension, tries to shift the conversation. “So! Uh, anyway, I’ve been thinking about getting a new place, but the rent’s—”

You cut her off, your mind too focused, too fixated on one thing. “What’s Ronin doing?”

Angel sighs heavily, her frustration barely hidden now. “He’s fine.”

But it’s V who answers. “He’s fine without you,” he says bluntly, though there’s a softness in his tone like he’s trying to prepare you for a blow. You flinch inwardly, but you manage to keep your face blank, pretending it doesn’t cut as deep as it does.

You sit there, frozen, but V doesn’t stop. “He’s… happy. I think he’s gone off to kill someone again.” His voice is cold, almost detached, like he’s telling you a fact that doesn’t matter. “Maybe you’re the only one who’s serious and clingy in this relationship.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and you can feel your heart breaking, shattering into tiny, irreparable pieces. But you force a smile, the kind that barely reaches your eyes. “It’s fine,” you say, your voice trembling just a little. “It’s perfect. He’s perfect the way he is.”

But your eyes betray you. They’re wide, filled with that twisted, lovesick devotion, like you’re drowning in your feelings and don’t even care. In your head, all you can think about is sinking deeper into Ronin’s world, letting him consume you completely, until there’s nothing left of who you used to be. You want it. You want him. You want to lose yourself in him, no matter how much it destroys you.

You sit there after the call, the silence enveloping you, but your thoughts still swirling around Ronin like a storm you can't escape. You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you open your laptop, telling yourself you’ll work on your book, like they told you. But your fingers hover over the keys, your mind already somewhere else.

“I just feel… fuzzy about him,” you had told Angel earlier, trying to explain this maddening, obsessive feeling in the pit of your stomach. But she’d only laughed, though not unkindly.

“Even I wasn’t this bad,” she’d said, smirking like she was trying to make light of it. “Maybe your love is just too strong.” Her attempt to cheer you up had actually worked, even if just a little. You had smiled, a tiny flicker of warmth in your chest.

“Cheer up,” she’d added. “And get back to your story."

“Yeah,” you had murmured, not really listening, already thinking about Ronin. Already missing him.

Now, sitting alone with your laptop open, you try to follow her advice. You start typing, the title of your story staring back at you, but… it’s not the story you’re supposed to be writing, is it?

You start typing, but the words don’t match the character V had wanted—the noble killer with a rigid moral code. No, the character that comes alive under your fingers is someone else entirely.

He’s dark, dangerous, with a wicked grin that sends shivers down your spine. His eyes are sharp, burning with mischief, and his laugh… God, his laugh. It’s him. It’s Ronin. You can’t stop yourself from writing him into the story, from turning him into the devilish figure you can’t tear your eyes away from.

And you? You slip into the story, too. Not as a secondary character. Not as an observer. No. You’re his love interest. The one who falls into his arms, who sinks into his darkness willingly. You let him consume you, wrap you up in his world of danger and chaos because you crave it. You crave him.

You don’t even realize what you’re doing at first. The words just flow out of you, like a love letter disguised as a story. A love note for Ronin. Each sentence is a confession, each scene a reflection of how deeply he’s burrowed into your mind, into your heart. It’s raw, it’s messy, it’s everything you feel but can’t say out loud.

You type and type, not caring that you’ve completely derailed from the plot you were supposed to follow. The good man who kills for justice? He doesn’t exist in your world right now. There’s only Ronin. The devil. The one who owns every corner of your heart, no matter how much he tries to push you away.

Hours pass, and by the time you stop typing, you realize you’ve written pages—an entire chapter, maybe more. But it’s not the story you were meant to write. It’s yours. It’s your obsession, your madness, poured out into words.

You sit back and stare at the screen, feeling both exhilarated and exhausted. You know you should be working on your real book, but part of you can’t help but smile at what you’ve created. It’s a mess, but it’s yours.

Angel sighed, pushing her hair back as she leaned over her phone, eyes narrowing. "V, why didn’t you tell them about how Ronin’s been acting? He’s not even talking to me, and you're just… brushing it off?"

V, sitting , didn’t answer right away. Instead, he smiled—actually smiled—something he rarely did, the corner of his lips curling in amusement. "I wanted to see how they were," he said with a shrug, his voice calm. "And you know what? They’re fine. I’ve been keeping an eye."

Angel didn’t seem convinced. She crossed her arms, a frown pulling at her features. "I’m worried, V. I mean… did you see them? They seemed slightly crazy—like, lovesick, obsessed. I’m telling you, I'm worried about them, I don't know...Suddenly I don't want to become whatever the hell we are."

V’s smile faded slightly, but his expression remained soft. "They’re not that type, Angel. You know them. Yeah, they’re obsessed with Ronin, but they haven’t done anything reckless yet." His tone grew more serious, though. "Ronin hasn’t corrupted them… at least, not completely."

Angel chewed her lip, her fingers fidgeting over her phone before she made a decision. "I’m just gonna text him, just to make sure he’s there," she muttered, quickly typing out a message to Ronin.

Moments passed before her phone buzzed, and Ronin’s reply popped up: Devil’s here!

She sighed in mild relief, rolling her eyes at his theatrics. "Of course… that’s typical Ronin."

But before she could relax, V picked up , sending a message to Ronin with a more pointed tone. "I’m not as patient as Angel," he said as he typed. "If you don’t start talking, there’s going to be consequences." He hit send, leaning back, expecting some sarcastic response.

A few seconds later, his phone buzzed with the exact same reply: Devil’s here!

V blinked, his brow furrowing as he stared at the screen. Angel glanced over, her own phone vibrating with a second, identical message from Ronin. "Wait…" she muttered, frowning. "Isn’t that…?"

Misaki, who’d been quietly sipping a drink, glanced at her phone too and snickered. "Guys, that’s his automated reply prank! He’s done this before!"

For a brief moment, the group shared a collective groan and laughed it off, realizing they’d all fallen for one of Ronin’s infamous tricks. He had a habit of setting up automated responses, just to mess with them.

But then the laughter died down as the realization settled in.

Angel glanced at her phone again. "Wait… if it’s just an auto-reply…" Her voice trailed off as her stomach dropped.

Misaki, the first to speak, sounded nervous now. "Uh, so, where’s Ronin?"

V realized. "Well, I guess he's just as clingy as them. God, I'm gonna kill him."

Your thoughts too clouded by the constant, gnawing ache inside you. You can’t shake it, can’t stop thinking about him. Ronin. The only thing that occupies your mind as you walk out the door, moving through the streets like you're in a trance.

It doesn’t take long before you find yourself wandering Uptown, your steps naturally pulling you toward that one alley—the one they call Purgatory. It’s notorious, the kind of place everyone avoids, where even whispers of its name send shivers down spines. The Butcher’s territory. People have seen the aftermath here—limbs and pieces of flesh strewn like discarded trash, blood painting the graffiti-splattered walls. It’s grotesque, macabre.

But to you? It’s something else entirely.

You call it your love birth!

It’s twisted, isn’t it? You can’t help the smile creeping up on your face as you step into the dark, narrow space. This is where it all began. Where you had your first kiss with Ronin, right here in the heart of chaos. The same place where bodies had been ripped apart, left to rot. That’s where you became his fallen angel.

The memory washes over you like a wave—his hands on your face, his lips crushing against yours with that devilish intensity. You still remember the taste of copper in the air, the blood that stained his hands… and the way it didn’t matter. Not in the slightest. That was the moment you knew—there was no going back. You were his, no matter what.

Your heart races as you walk deeper into the alley, your eyes scanning the area with that lovesick expression. Every corner, every shadow, you search with a strange kind of yearning. Maybe he left something behind. Maybe some small trace of him remains, something he forgot—something you can cling to.

You know it’s irrational, but your mind can’t help it. You want him. You need him. Every thought, every breath, is consumed by him. You’ve become addicted to the way he makes you feel—alive, wild, free. And now, without him, you feel like you’re floating, untethered, falling further and further into the abyss.

You walk slowly, your fingers brushing against the walls as you pass by, half-hoping you’ll stumble across something—anything that could be a sign from him. A discarded cigarette, a drop of blood, some trace of his presence that would prove he’s been here.

But the alley is silent. Empty.

Still, you don’t stop. Your heart beats faster the further you go, your mind racing with the memory of him. His voice. His laugh. The way he pulls you into his world, his darkness, and makes it feel like home.

By the time you reach the far end of the alley, your eyes have glazed over, filled with that lovesick haze that you can’t shake. You’re lost in it, drowning in the feeling. You want to see him, to feel him again, to fall deeper into that sinful connection.

You pause, standing still for a moment, the weight of the emptiness settling in around you.

He’s not here.

But God, you wish he was.

You freeze when you hear it—a faint, metallic scraping sound echoing through the alley. The unmistakable drag of a crowbar. Your heart skips a beat, and a rush of adrenaline floods your veins.

It’s him.

Ronin.

The sound makes your pulse quicken, your body tensing in anticipation as you spin around, trying to catch a glimpse of him. You begin to move, searching the shadows, desperately scanning every dark corner of the alley for any sign of him. Your heart pounds as your breath catches in your throat. He’s here. He has to be.

But then, the sound stops. Dead silence.

Before you can react, a sudden force slams into you, pushing you hard against the cold, graffiti-stained wall. Your breath is knocked out of you for a moment, and you barely register what’s happening before a strong arm wraps around your waist, lifting you slightly off the ground. You gasp, your heart racing, your body pinned between the rough brick and the figure in front of you.

And then… his lips crash into yours.

Ronin.

You melt instantly into the kiss, your body responding before your mind can even catch up. The intensity of it, the hunger—it’s like he’s claiming you all over again, pulling you back into his orbit. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips as he holds you up, his body pressing hard against yours.

When he finally pulls away, his breath hot against your skin, his voice is low, teasing. “Seems like you were pathetically sniffing around for clues, weren’t you? Like a lost little puppy darling?… so desperate to know if I was here.”

Your eyes flutter open, your head still spinning, trying to gather your thoughts, but they slip away in the haze of his presence. You can’t think straight, not when he’s this close, not when his scent fills your lungs, and his lips are still so dangerously close to yours.

You try to speak, to explain, to say something, but your voice catches in your throat. The words never come. He smirks, seeing your struggle, and presses a finger to your lips, silencing you before you can even attempt to respond.

“Shh,” he whispers, his tone dripping with amusement. “No need to talk, Darling. I know exactly what you want.”

Your body trembles, love-sick and overwhelmed. It’s like your whole world is centered around him, every fiber of your being drawn to him in a way you can’t control. You’re drowning in him, in this moment, and you can’t help but feel exactly what he’s accusing you of.

Desperate.

You don’t care about anything else. You just want him.

Your fingers clutch at his jacket, and your body leans closer, your lips parting as if to say his name, but no sound escapes. You don’t need to speak—he can already see the longing in your eyes, the way you’re losing yourself in him.

“Haha...” he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear as his lips hover near your neck. “So love-sick…I did it all Didn't I?"

Ronin sighed, leaning his head back slightly, his eyes narrowing in amusement. "That fucking V," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as a low laugh escaped his throat.

You blinked, still trying to catch up with the intensity of the moment. "What… what did V lie about?" you asked, your voice soft and shaky, still lost in the feeling of him so close, his presence overwhelming.

Ronin’s laughter deepened, the sound dark and teasing as he looked back down at you, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "He told me you were completely normal," he said, the grin spreading across his face. "That you didn’t even miss me." His fingers grazed your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your heart skipped a beat, a wave of exhilaration surging through you. "He told you that?!" you gasped, eyes wide. "He said the same thing to me! That you were fine without me, that you didn’t care!"

Ronin’s smirk grew more sinister, his eyes narrowing as he spoke. "So much for his precious 'justice.' Lying straight to both our faces," he said, his tone laced with mockery. "Maybe V thinks it’s all for the 'greater good.'" He rolled his eyes, clearly unamused by the thought.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. "Maybe," you teased with a grin, "he thought he was saving us or something." But before you could continue, Ronin’s hand shot up, gently pressing over your mouth.

His voice dropped lower, the playfulness fading from his eyes as he leaned in closer. "Stop talking about another guy when you’re with me."

You froze, instantly obeying, your hand instinctively covering your mouth, the playful teasing evaporating as you felt his gaze burning into you. The possessiveness in his voice sent a thrilling, electric charge through your entire body.

He chuckled at your reaction, clearly satisfied by the way you instantly silenced yourself for him. His other hand gripped your waist, pinning you harder against the wall as his eyes trailed over you, dark and hungry. "Now," he said, his tone softening into a more sinister purr, "how much did you miss me?"

Your breath hitched, your heart racing. "A lot," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "I missed you so much… I couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. It even messed with my writing… I just kept thinking about you, obsessing over you—"

His grip tightened, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Obsessing, huh? Sounds like you’ve been going full yandere on me." He chuckled, his fingers brushing through your hair as he leaned in closer, his lips barely an inch from yours. "Say it," he commanded, his voice dropping into that dangerous, addictive tone. "Say that you love me."

Your heart pounded as you looked into his eyes, the intensity of his gaze swallowing you whole. "I love you," you whispered, breathless, the words slipping out like a confession. "I love you… I love you…"

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing as you kept repeating it like a broken record, your voice desperate, lovesick. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Ronin let out a low, mocking laugh. "Pathetic," he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. "To think that I like this." He watched you, entertained, as you kept whispering the words over and over, your voice trembling with devotion.

He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear as he spoke. "Keep your attention on me… forever. Don’t even think about anyone else. It’s me you belong to. Got it? Darling?

Your heart felt like it might burst as you nodded, utterly consumed by the intensity of his words.

Ronin chuckled darkly, his lips finally crashing against yours once again, sealing you completely in his world. There was no escape. There never would be.

#killer chat #killer chat ronin #ronin x reader #ronin beaufort #killer chat x reader #dating sim #visual novel #ronin beaufort x reader #Angel #Misaki #V #killer chat vn

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elysiaheaven · 18 days ago

Note

Killer Chat main cast in the bedroom? 🫣

This was so fun to write thank you for the request!

RONIN - The DEVIL'S BUTCHER

Ronin may act nonchalant, but the moment you’re in bed, he drapes himself over you like a heavy blanket. Whether it’s his arm slung lazily across your waist or his whole body practically pinning you down, he needs the contact. If you try to move? Forget it—he’ll grumble, “Where d’you think you’re going?” and pull you back tighter.

No matter the situation, Ronin is a sucker for forehead kisses. If you're curled up against him, he’ll drop lazy kisses on the top of your head without even thinking about it. He finds it hilarious how quickly they make you blush and always teases you, whispering, “Blushy already, huh? How cute.”

Ronin sleeps like a tangled mess. His legs are always draped over yours, and sometimes you wake up to find his arm tucked under your neck or his head buried in your shoulder. Even if it gets too warm, he’ll stubbornly cling to you like a koala, mumbling, "You’re not escaping me."

Running his fingers through your hair is one of his favorite things—whether you're awake or asleep. He claims it’s "just to keep his hands busy," but really, it's soothing for him. Sometimes, he’ll absentmindedly braid tiny sections or twirl strands around his finger while lost in thought.

As much as Ronin plays up his confident, devil-may-care persona, he’s occasionally struck by waves of doubt, especially when dysphoria hits. He might hold you a little tighter on those nights, wordlessly seeking reassurance.

If you run your hands down his chest and kiss him gently where his scars are, it’s the kind of tenderness that undoes him. He’ll try to cover it with a half-sarcastic, “Don’t get all sappy on me,” but the slight tremor in his voice betrays him.

Sometimes, he’ll ask if you’re sure you’re okay with the way he looks, in a voice that’s so quiet it breaks your heart. Your answer always matters to him—more than he’d admit.

Ronin’s not much of a spooner in the traditional sense—he likes to wrap himself around you, snake-like, or tangle his legs with yours in the messiest, most chaotic way possible. He has a habit of lazily tossing an arm or leg over you, murmuring, “You’re not leaving, right?” as he buries his face in your neck. If you try to move, he’ll just pull you closer with an annoying little grin.

Ronin’s intimacy is all about control, not in an aggressive way, but in how he carefully chooses when and how he gives himself to you. Knowing that you love him as he is—without expectations—eases his fears, but it’s still a process.

On nights where he lets you touch the parts of him he’s most insecure about, it feels like he’s handing you a piece of his soul. He needs the reassurance that you see him fully and still love every bit.

He likes playing mind games even in the bedroom, leaning into teasing and tension just to make things more interesting. He’ll smirk against your lips, murmuring, “Think you can handle me?” knowing full well you’ve already won.

Ronin isn’t big on over-the-top dominance, but there’s always an edge to the way he kisses you—like he’s trying to claim you, even in the softest moments. It’s not about control; it’s about wanting you to feel how much you matter to him, in every breathless second.

After everything—after the teasing, kisses, and playful jabs—he’ll lie there in the quiet, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounde

He’ll never say it outright, but you can hear the unspoken words in the way he presses his lips to your hair: I love you. I love you. I love you.

Ronin wakes up before you sometimes, and instead of getting up like a normal person, he decides to mess with you. He’ll tickle your nose with his hair or blow gently on your face, waiting for you to groggily swat at him. When you finally wake up annoyed, he’ll grin, kiss your forehead, and say, “Rise and shine, sweetheart. Couldn’t sleep without annoying you first.”

While Ronin enjoys having control, he gets a thrill out of moments when you try to take charge. He’ll let you straddle him or pin his hands—just to see how far you’ll take it before he flips you over, smirking, “Cute. Now it’s my turn.”

He’ll pull things like lightly slapping your thigh or teasing you when you try to resist, smirking the whole time. If you ask him to stop being such a tease, he’ll drag it out even more, murmuring, “What’s the rush? I want to enjoy every second of this.”

In his twisted way, everything he does is an expression of love. Ronin is about pushing boundaries, breaking down walls, and molding you into someone who matches his chaotic, unhinged energy. “You’re mine,” he’ll whisper, not just as a promise but a warning—he won’t ever let you go, not truly.

After everything, he’ll drape an arm over you, pull you close, and nuzzle his face into your neck. But don’t expect sweet pillow talk—he’ll mutter something like, “Can’t believe you’re stuck with me,” or “How’d I get so lucky to ruin you, huh?” He shows affection in the strangest, most chaotic ways—sometimes by stealing kisses, sometimes by pinching your nose just to annoy you.

Ronin isn’t clingy, but he’s possessive in subtle ways. He loves when you wear his clothes after, especially when they’re oversized on you. Seeing you wrapped in something of his, especially after being tangled in bed, scratches an itch deep inside him. “That’s mine now,” he’ll joke, tugging at the collar.

He enjoys pushing your limits—whether it’s with teasing or something more intense. But the moment you hit your threshold, he’ll stop instantly. He doesn’t just listen to your boundaries; he respects them, taking pride in knowing exactly how far to push without breaking you.

V- For Vigilante- Batman

V isn’t someone who’s big on words or grand romantic gestures, especially in the bedroom. He shows care in the subtleties—like making sure you’re comfortable, leaving space for you to adjust, and observing how you react to him.

He’s slow to pick up on flirting, so if you make playful remarks or compliments, you might be met with a blank stare or a simple, “What are you trying to say?” But when he does catch on, he’ll become flustered, a rare softness peeking through his cool demeanor.

Touch isn’t second nature to V—he treats it like an unspoken contract, something intimate and earned. It takes time for him to initiate contact, but once he’s comfortable, you’ll notice small, deliberate gestures.

He has a habit of resting his hand on your back, just below your shoulder blades, or brushing his fingers along your arm. When you reach for him first, there’s always a flicker of hesitation before he lets himself lean into it.

In the bedroom, V’s energy is steady and composed—he isn’t someone who rushes into things. Every touch feels purposeful, as if he’s assessing your reaction and adjusting his actions accordingly. He might not say much, but his intensity speaks louder than words.

Though he’s naturally aloof, he likes when you take charge at times, especially if you lean into your nurturing but domineering side. When you pin him down playfully or grab his chin to make him look at you, a subtle smirk plays on his lips, amused by your boldness.

If you have pets, V will subtly encourage them to join you two on the bed—whether it's a cat curling up at your feet or a dog lying across the covers. He finds their presence grounding, though he’ll never admit it aloud.

You catch him more than once stroking an animal absentmindedly during conversations, and there’s a tenderness to the way he interacts with them—soft and careful, like they’re the only beings who understand him.

V may seem detached, but he’s hyper-aware of your moods. If you’re having a bad day, he won’t say much; instead, he’ll just pull you into bed and let you rest against him in silence, fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

If someone has hurt you or crossed your boundaries, V shifts into a dangerous kind of calm. “Do you want me to handle it?” he’ll ask in a neutral tone, fully prepared to make that person regret ever breathing near you.

On nights when sleep feels distant, V doesn’t mind spending time with you tending to plants in your room—watering them, pruning leaves, or simply sitting in comfortable silence while the scent of soil fills the air.

He loves the way you care for living things. When he watches you tend to plants with gentle hands but turns around and sees that same kindness transform into brutal protectiveness for those you love, it intrigues him deeply.

V’s way of being intimate is subtle but commanding—he won’t rush things, preferring to explore you at his own pace. He takes time to memorize every part of you, his cool fingers trailing across your skin like a silent promise.

When things get heated, he’s not one to vocalize much. Instead, you’ll catch the way his breathing hitches or how his fingers tighten on your hips ever so slightly. If you tease him for being quiet, you might get a deadpan, “Is this supposed to be a conversation?”—but the rare flash of amusement in his eyes gives him away.

V might not be outwardly affectionate, but when he does express it, it’s in ways that feel uniquely him—like pulling you into his side while reading a book together or casually draping an arm across your waist as you sleep.

If you ever catch him in a rare moment of vulnerability—like if he’s half-asleep and mumbles something soft about how much you mean to him—it’ll be a fleeting moment, and he’ll act like it never happened. But you’ll know.

He admires how you can be nurturing to animals and plants but unforgiving toward people who cross the line. When he sees you switch from soft to sharp in a heartbeat, it stirs something in him—a quiet respect and attraction.

He knows you could easily handle yourself, but there’s still a part of him that feels responsible for your safety. If things ever go wrong, V’s loyalty is absolute, and anyone who threatens you becomes a problem he’s more than willing to solve.

In the stillness of the night, when it’s just the two of you curled up together, V’s voice becomes a little softer. He might murmur simple things—how the stars looked that night, or a quiet compliment like, “You smell nice.”

And when he’s finally on the edge of sleep, with his head resting against yours and his hand resting lazily on your hip, he’ll let slip the rarest kind of confession: “You’re the only one I trust.”

Misaki- Chaos gremlin

The bedroom isn’t just for sleeping—it’s for chaos. Misaki loves randomly initiating pillow fights or wrestling you onto the mattress with no warning. “Bet you can’t take me down!” they’ll challenge, even when they’re the one getting pinned two seconds later.If you play along and banter with them during these moments, they’ll grin like you’ve just made their day. Bonus points if you act dramatic when they win—“Noooo, I’ve been defeated!”—because it feeds their need for praise.

Misaki lives for your compliments, especially in casual moments. “Look at you, my little badass,” you say offhandedly, and they melt. You’ll catch them trying to hide a smile, only to respond with something like, “Heh, I know I’m amazing—but say it again.”They also adore teasing praise—“Wow, you really managed not to break anything today, proud of you”—but if you really hype them up when they’re struggling emotionally, it grounds them more than they’ll ever admit.

Misaki hates being alone and will cling to you like Velcro the moment you’re available. They’ll drag you into bed and sprawl out across you, often grumbling things like, “You’re not going anywhere, right"

They’re the type to demand cuddles but wiggle around so much it turns into a playful wrestling match. Eventually, they’ll flop dramatically on top of you, sigh, and say, “I’m staying right here. Deal with it.”

Misaki loves calling you during missions or jobs, not just because they’re bored but because it makes them feel connected. “You’re my lifeline,” they’ll joke, even though they’re dead serious about how much those calls mean to them.

Misaki is the master of cracking jokes during vulnerable moments. They’ll deflect emotional conversations with humor, brushing off their feelings like, “Eh, emotions are overrated, right?” But deep down, they’re craving someone who can see past that.

If you gently call them out—

“You’re deflecting, babe”—they’ll groan dramatically and act like you’ve caught them red-handed, but the fact that you noticed? It means the world to them.

If you’re a good cook, Misaki adores you—praising you like a culinary god and demanding home-cooked meals at every opportunity. But fair warning: they love joining you in the kitchen, often causing delightful chaos.

Picture them trying to flip pancakes a little too high or sneaking bites from every pot while yelling, “Quality control!” They might make a mess, but they’ll be having the time of their life doing it with you.

One minute you’re cuddling in bed, and the next, Misaki’s throwing blankets and pillows everywhere to build a fort. “C’mon, no fort is complete without snacks—grab some!” they’ll say as they bury themself in the pillows like a gremlin.

The two of you end up snuggled inside, eating snacks and watching movies—until they inevitably fall asleep on you, snoring softly with their head on your chest.

Intimacy with Misaki is playful but deeply affectionate. They’ll joke mid-kiss—“Wow, are you trying to knock me out with that kiss?”—but the way they look at you, like you’re their whole world, is no joke.

Even when things get spicy, they mix teasing with genuine tenderness, making you feel cherished in their own chaotic way. And afterward? They’re all about aftercare

If anyone messes with you, Misaki’s inner chaos gremlins activate. They’ll laugh it off in the moment, but rest assured—they’ll come back with just enough payback to leave the offender wondering what hit them. “Nobody messes with my partner,” they’ll say, grinning.

And if you joke about them being your personal protector, they’ll puff their chest dramatically and declare, “You better believe it. I’ll traumatize them right back.”

At the end of the day, Misaki is a ride-or-die partner. They’ll love you to the ends of the earth, sticking by your side through every mess and adventure. Whether you’re making pancakes at midnight or just lying in bed watching TV,

they’re happiest when they’re with you.And every night, just as you’re drifting off to sleep, they’ll murmur something sweet, like, “I’m really glad you’re here, y’know?” It’s their way of saying, in their chaotic but sincere way, that they wouldn’t trade this—or you—for anything.

Angel- Heartsick Angel

Angel’s optimism often comes with a tinge of self-doubt, and you’ve learned to recognize when her mind starts to spiral. She might smile through it, masking the anxiety, saying, "Everything’s fine!"—but the way she grips your hand a little too tight tells you otherwise.

You ground her gently, pulling her into your arms and resting your chin on her head. “It’s okay to not be fine, y’know,” you murmur, brushing your thumb along her back. Her shoulders relax slightly as she sighs against you, grateful that she doesn’t have to pretend.

When Angel’s having a manic episode or feeling overwhelmed, she needs time to herself. You’ve learned to respect those boundaries without taking it personally. Instead of pushing, you leave her a glass of water and a small snack nearby—a quiet reminder that you’re always there, even if she needs space.

On tough days, she’ll eventually crawl into bed with you after hours of isolation, curling up against your side. You say nothing, just pull the blanket over both of you, and let her rest with her head on your chest. "Thanks for waiting," she whispers into the darkness.

Being a model and YouTuber, Angel’s life can be exhausting—early photoshoots, constant editing, and keeping up with trends. But on her rare days off, she craves nothing more than lazy mornings in bed with you.

She’ll snuggle close under the covers, still half-asleep, and mumble, “Stay five more minutes,” even though she’s been saying that for the past hour. You stroke her hair, brushing stray strands away from her face, and she hums happily. “Okay…maybe ten more.”

Angel is big on little kisses—forehead pecks, kisses on the nose, or brushing her lips against your shoulder just because she feels like it. She thrives on those small moments of affection, each one grounding her a little more.

If you surprise her with a kiss mid-conversation, her face lights up with the sweetest smile. “Hey! No fair!” she laughs, though she’s already leaning in for another one.

Angel hides her sadness behind smiles, but in the quiet of night, when her mind finally slows, she feels safe enough to let the tears come. She won’t say much—just clings to you like a lifeline, shaking slightly as she lets out quiet sobs.

You hold her close, fingers running soothing patterns along her back, whispering soft reassurances. “You’re not alone, Angel. I’ve got you.” And for the first time in a while, she believes it.

When she spirals, her mind becomes a tangle of doubts and insecurities. She might lash out—not in anger but in frustration at herself. “Why do you even stay?” she asks in a voice that’s too quiet, too broken.

Your answer is simple and steady: “Because I love you. And I’m not going anywhere.” That reminder, spoken without hesitation, pulls her back from the edge every time.

Angel’s approach to intimacy is both playful and passionate. She likes to tease—trailing soft kisses along your skin, then giggling at your reactions. “What’s wrong? Can’t handle a little teasing?” she’ll say with a mischievous grin.

But underneath the playfulness is a need for closeness. When things get more intense, her giggles turn to breathless whispers, and she clings to you as if letting go would shatter her. In those moments, it’s not just about the physical connection—it’s about the emotional safety she finds in your arms.

Angel isn’t afraid to reach out when she needs you—whether she’s having a rough night or just wants to hear your voice. “I know it’s late, but… can we talk for a bit?” she’ll ask softly, voice tinged with vulnerability.

You stay on the line as long as she needs, reassuring her with every word. “I’m always here, Angel. No matter what.” And that promise means the world to her.

Even mundane moments with you feel intimate to her—like brushing your teeth together in the morning, or lying in bed scrolling through your phones, feet tangled under the blankets.

Sometimes, she’ll sit in your lap while editing her videos, needing the comfort of your presence even as she works. “You’re my good luck charm,” she says, kissing your cheek before diving back into her tasks.

Cooking with you is one of Angel’s favorite ways to unwind. She loves standing side-by-side in the kitchen, playfully stealing bites of food from your hands and swaying to the music playing in the background.

“If you burn the toast, I’ll still love you,” she jokes, though you both know she’s the one who always forgets the timer. When the meal is finally done, she’ll cuddle into you on the couch, whispering, “This is perfect.” And in that moment, it really is.

Angel sometimes struggles with sleep, her mind racing with a hundred thoughts at once. On those restless nights, she’ll crawl into your lap, nestling close, and murmur, “Can’t sleep… can you talk to me?”

You wrap your arms around her, holding her until the rhythm of your heartbeat starts to calm her down. Sometimes, you talk about anything—nonsense stories, funny memories, or what you’ll have for breakfast. Other times, you just hum softly, running your fingers through her hair.

“Stay like this forever,” she whispers drowsily, and though she falls asleep soon after, you keep holding her, content in the quiet intimacy.

After long filming days or stressful shoots, Angel tends to collapse into bed, drained and emotionally spent. She craves your touch most during these moments, melting into your embrace like she belongs there.

“Mmm… you’re my reward for surviving today,” she mumbles, cheek pressed to your chest. Her exhaustion shows in the way she clings to you, a silent request for comfort.

You stroke her back, pressing soft kisses into her hair, and promise, “I’m always here, Angel. No matter how tough it gets.” Her contented sigh tells you that’s exactly what she needed to hear.

Angel isn’t the jealous type—she trusts you completely—but that doesn’t mean the little pangs don’t sneak in sometimes, especially when work takes you away from her for too long.

“You know… you’ve been spending a lot of time with other people lately,” she’ll say with a teasing smile, though the underlying insecurity is evident.

You pull her close, kissing her forehead. “They’re not you. They could never be you.” Her smile turns real, and she presses herself tighter against you, content with the reassurance.

Mornings with Angel can be quiet and raw, especially after a rough night. She wakes up groggy, with her guard lowered, snuggling closer to you with a sleepy whimper.

On mornings like this, she doesn’t say much—just holds you as if anchoring herself. “Stay with me a little longer,” she whispers, her breath warm against your neck. You’re happy to oblige, brushing lazy kisses against her hair as the world outside waits.

Intimacy with Angel is equal parts playful and passionate. She likes to tease and challenge you, enjoying the push and pull. “Oh, think you’ve got me figured out?” she taunts, lips brushing against yours.

But there’s always tenderness beneath her teasing—a desire to be close, to connect on a level that feels safe. In those quieter moments, she melts against you, breath hitching as your touches become slower, more deliberate. “You feel so good,” she whispers, eyes fluttering shut.

She loves when things slow down, when it’s not just about the physical but the emotional closeness. You can tell from the way her fingers linger on your skin, like she’s savoring every second.

Angel tries to mask her sadness with jokes, but in the sanctuary of the bedroom, she knows she doesn’t have to pretend. Some nights, she’ll vent about the pressures of her work, her insecurities, or how overwhelming life feels.

“Sometimes I just… don’t feel good enough,” she admits softly, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. It’s not easy for her to be this open, but with you, she feels safe enough to try.

You cup her face gently, brushing away the stray tears. “You’re more than enough, Angel. I see you, and I love you for exactly who you are.” The look she gives you—full of gratitude and love—makes every tough moment worth it.

Angel doesn’t always need grand gestures—what she values most is your time and presence. Even just lying in bed with you, scrolling on your phones or watching random videos, feels special to her.

“You being here means everything,” she’ll say quietly, her hand resting on your chest as if to anchor herself. The way she smiles when you squeeze her hand makes it clear she means it.

During her worst splits, Angel sometimes pushes you away—not because she wants to but because she’s afraid of being a burden.

“You don’t have to stay,” she mumbles, curling into herself. But you do stay. You sit with her in the silence, gently running your fingers along her arm until she relaxes.

“I told you I’m not going anywhere,” you remind her softly. And when she finally looks up, her eyes are full of gratitude—and maybe a little hope.

Pillow talk with Angel is full of random, sleepy conversations—she’ll talk about her dream YouTube ideas, the weirdest trends she’s seen, or the cutest animal videos she found.

But sometimes, in the dead of night, her words turn softer, more vulnerable. “Do you think I’ll be okay?” she asks quietly, her fingers laced with yours.

“You’re already okay, Angel,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “And I’ll be right here with you, every step of the way.”

For Angel, love is found in the quiet moments—the way you hold her when words aren’t enough, the way your fingers brush hers absentmindedly, the way you stay even when things get hard.

And as she drifts off to sleep in your arms, she knows she’s exactly where she belongs.

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elysiaheaven · 21 days ago

Text

"Pure Insatiablity"-[𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓-2] 𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍 𝐗 𝐆.𝐍 (Yandere) 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 (𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐓)

Words:

Genre: Yandere/Fluff

Summary: After a small smooch session, You decided to ask him on a first date that is outside to an ice cream shop. You sadly realized how much your book is affected the 'simps' be careful, some people just might eye his aesthetic! You have a small motive too Mission : Invite him to a sleepover!

( Reader is a g.n!)

TW: Obsessive behaviour, Lovesick, Blood, Violence, Crazy! Your daily dose of cringe! (He's crazy ><), (Reader is obsessive in love with him) Mentions of disturbing poetic lines?

You and Ronin walked through the quiet streets, the echo of your footsteps bouncing off the alley walls. His hand gripped yours with just enough pressure to remind you of his presence. He was always like that—an anchor, pulling you deeper into his orbit, and you couldn’t help but sink further in your love with him.

But something nagged at you. It wasn’t jealousy, peruse, but curiosity. How did Angel deal with this devil. Some tips to make yourself interesting You bit your lip, trying to work up the nerve to ask.

"Ronin…" you started hesitantly, your voice small, but he just glanced at you, his eyebrow raised, as if daring you to continue.

"How was it… you and Angel? You know, when you were together?"

He didn’t respond immediately, his pace unchanged as you walked. For a moment, you thought he might ignore you altogether, but then he sighed, a slow, deliberate sound, his lips curling up into a dark smile.

"Keep thinkin’ about it in that pretty stupid little head of yours, darlin’," he teased, his voice dripping with that post-ironic bite that was so him. "But fine, if you really wanna know…" His tone shifted as he spoke, and you could tell he wasn’t playing games this time. His gaze turned cold, distant, like he was pulling from memories he wasn’t entirely comfortable revisiting.

"I felt safe with her, y’know?" He said it so casually, but there was something deeper in his words. "She was like… a reflection of something I couldn’t have anymore. I was projectin' Ther—onto her. Still got a lotta unprocessed shit about them. It's just two people were broken tryin to fix each other."

You blinked, trying to process that. "Ther?" You whispered. Yeah, you knew he mentioned it. Forsaken town, First love.

His grip on your hand tightened, and for a second, his eyes flashed with something colder than usual. "Stop carin’," he muttered, his voice sharp. "You’re askin’ all these stupid questions and you’re gonna get lost in ‘em. That what you want? To drown in this obsession you’ve got for me? ‘Cause I’ll let you. But stop stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and suddenly you felt that lovesick haze wrapping around your mind again, his voice pulling you deeper into it. You forgot, almost instantly, what you had just been talking about. All you could focus on was him. His presence, his voice, the way his hand felt against yours. Your mind whirled, caught in the spiral of your adoration for him.

He noticed, of course. He always did. He gave you that dark smile again, the one that told you he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"Why’d you even ask about Angel, huh?" His tone was challenging now, mocking, as if daring you to admit what you were really thinking.

"I… I just wanted to understand," you stammered, looking down at the ground. "I wanted to know how she was with you. For… tips."

He stopped walking then, turning to face you fully. His eyes narrowed as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Tips for what, baby? You plannin’ somethin’ for Angel? If you do, I will have a reason to abuse my crowbar." His voice dropped, a dark serious tone....

You shook your head furiously, eyes wide. "No, no! I would never!" You gasped, the thought of hurting Angel—a sweetheart, someone who had been nothing but kind to you—making you feel sick. "Even if I’m crazy, I wouldn’t hurt her. She’s… she’s too nice. I care about her too much, Ronin."

You said it softly, almost to yourself, as if admitting it out loud made it more real. Your mind spun with the thought of Angel, how she’d always looked out for you, tried her best to help you, even when you were too far gone in your obsession with Ronin to notice sometimes.

Ronin watched you, that cold gaze of his never faltering. "That so?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "And here I thought you didn’t care ‘bout anyone but me."

"I don’t care about impressing you with that," you blurted, shaking your head again, a desperate edge to your voice. "I don’t need to do something crazy to make you notice me. I just… I have to be someone. Someone you find interesting. Someone who stands out, right?"

Ronin’s lips curled into a wicked smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he whispered, "You’re already like someone when you’re just normal."

You didn’t hear him—your mind too clouded, too wrapped up in him to catch the whisper.

You perked up suddenly, your eyes lighting up as a new thought crossed your mind. "Oh! I just remembered something!" you chirped, unable to contain your excitement.

Ronin raised an eyebrow, clearly not as enthusiastic as you were. "What now, darlin’?" he asked, voice tinged with mild annoyance, though he couldn’t quite hide the curiosity in his eyes.

"There’s a new ice cream shop near my place!" you said, practically bouncing on your heels. "We could go there, y’know? You could stash your stupid crowbar at my place, and then we can grab some ice cream. It'll be fun!"

For a moment, Ronin looked genuinely taken aback. His usual cold expression faltered, his eyes narrowing in what you could only describe as confusion. He stared at you, silent, and the longer he didn’t say anything, the more you started to worry. You bit your lip, fidgeting under his gaze.

"Ronin…?" you asked softly, concern creeping into your voice. "Are you… okay?"

His expression hardened, and he shook his head with a low chuckle, though there was something off about it. "You stalked me or somethin’ when I was a kid, huh? You have been to angeltown?" His tone was dry, almost mocking, but there was an undercurrent of something else—something more vulnerable, hidden beneath the layers of sarcasm.

"What?" You blinked, genuinely confused. "No! What are you talking about?"

"It’s nothin’," he muttered, eyes flicking away from yours as if he didn’t want to explain any further. "Just… remembered somethin’. Forget it."

But in truth, he was remembering something far more personal than he’d ever let on. Back in his small hometown, there was an old ice cream shop he used to frequent with his childhood best friend—his first love, Ther. They would go there all the time, sneaking off after school, sharing laughs and stolen glances over melting cones. His favorite flavor had been apple crumble, and somehow, that preference had stuck with him all these years, even as everything else changed.

It was a memory he didn’t care to revisit, especially not with you looking at him like that, all wide-eyed and hopeful, dragging him into your bright, pretty world.

"Okay," he finally said, voice low and resigned. He glanced down at you, and you could see the walls he always kept up, the ones you couldn’t ever fully break down.

Your eyes widened in excitement, your heart fluttering at the thought of something so simple, yet so intimate. Your first date with him—ice cream! "Oh my god, this is gonna be our first ice cream together!" you squealed, barely containing yourself. You tried to act cute, hoping for a rare smile from him.

But Ronin just sighed deeply, as if the very idea was exhausting. "Shut up," he muttered, his hand briefly ruffling your hair before pulling away. "So hopeless..."

"I’m sorry," you whispered, though you couldn’t hide the small grin tugging at your lips. "Hehe."

He rolled his eyes and just started walking ahead, his crowbar resting over his shoulder, not even bothering to check if you were following. Of course, you hurried to catch up, practically bouncing along next to him, whispering little apologies under your breath, giggling to yourself.

You reached your small, somewhat sad-looking house, a modest place nestled in the shadow of larger buildings. It wasn’t much, but it was yours, and right now, You turned to him, practically vibrating with excitement, pushing him lightly. "Come on, come in! Don’t be such a grump."

He looked at the house, then back at you, his expression unreadable. He hadn’t said a word about how unimpressive it was, but the way his eyes flicked over everything made you feel self-conscious for a moment. You almost wanted to apologize for it, but then again, this was Ronin. If he cared about things like that, you wouldn’t be here at all.

You changed the subject quickly, "They have apple crumble at the ice cream place, you know! It’s their famous flavor! But! we can try your fav too!"

Ronin’s gaze snapped back to you, and for a second, there was something unreadable in his eyes. His face hardened again as he narrowed his eyes at you. "How the hell do you know that’s my favorite flavor, darlin’?"

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "I didn’t! I just… It’s their famous one! I didn't know..!" You laughed awkwardly, hoping to shake off whatever tension had crept into the conversation.

But Ronin wasn’t letting it go. He stared at you, his expression shifting to one of suspicion. "You messin’ with me or somethin’? Huh?"

"What?" you said, confused and a little thrown off by his sudden shift in tone. "No! I wouldn’t—"

Before you could finish, he cut you off, "Forget it." He shook his head, almost like he was trying to shake off the conversation. "This is stupid. I don’t wanna go."

You could feel the excitement you’d built up start to deflate. You frowned slightly, watching him as he crossed his arms, his crowbar still hanging loosely from one hand. "Ronin, c’mon," you said softly, trying to calm him down. "Just relax a little, okay? Leave the crowbar here, at least. You don’t want people thinking you’re the Butcher, right?"

He gave you a look, his lips twitching upward in a smirk. "What, afraid the boys in blue are gonna catch me, darlin’?"

"Yes!" you exclaimed, a bit exasperated but still with a smile. "Just… humor me, alright? We don’t need the extra attention."

He chuckled darkly, looking at you with that familiar devilish glint in his eyes. "So careful… It’s sad, really. But I ain’t stupid. I know how to keep safe." He turned his head away, glancing toward the alley like he was already plotting his next escape route.

"Okay, then," you said, pressing him gently, trying to get him to focus. "So let’s go. Ice cream, remember?"

Ronin sighed heavily, dragging the crowbar along the ground for a moment before he finally propped it against your front step. "Christ, stop with the annoyin’—" He stopped himself, his voice cutting off mid-sentence as his gaze fell on you.

Your eyes met his, wide and pleading, and something in them seemed to stop him in his tracks. He looked at you for a long moment, his expression softening just a fraction. "Again with those eyes," he muttered, almost to himself. "Stop lookin’ at me like that."

"Like what?" you asked, confused and a little concerned by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

"Like that," he said, his voice lower now, a whisper that carried an edge of frustration. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "It’s too damn similar."

You blinked at him, more confused than ever. "Similar to what?"

He didn’t answer you, just stood there for a moment, his jaw clenched tight. Finally, he exhaled sharply, like he was forcing himself to drop whatever thought was running through his head. "It’s childish," he muttered. "This whole thing is stupid."

But even as he said it, Ronin pushed past you, walking toward the alley ahead of you like he had already given in. You smiled, hurrying to catch up with him, practically bouncing with excitement. This was a small victory—getting him to go, even if he was acting like it was a chore.

You tried to play it off, walking beside him and giving him a sidelong glance. "You don’t have to go if you really don’t want to, you know."

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his lips curling into a smirk. "Shut up, darlin’. You dragged me into this, now I’m gonna see it through."

You grinned, a blush creeping up your neck. "Okay, okay, I’ll stop talking. But… thanks for coming with me. I know it’s kinda… silly."

Ronin didn’t respond right away. He just kept walking, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his expression unreadable. After a few moments, he glanced over at you again, and for the briefest second, you thought you saw something softer beneath the usual cold exterior.

"Y’know," he said quietly, his voice almost too low to hear, "you’re more like someone than you realize. When you’re not actin’ all… lovesick."

You blinked at him, confused by his words. "What do you mean?"

He didn’t elaborate, just kept walking ahead, his pace quickening slightly as if he wanted to put some distance between you and the conversation. You furrowed your brows, wondering what he meant, but you didn’t press him. You were just happy he was here, with you, even if you didn’t understand everything that went through his head.

Ronin, hands in his pockets, posture effortlessly cool. He carried himself like the devil he pretended to be—like nothing ever fazed him. But you saw through it. You always did.

You smiled softly to yourself, tilting your head. "Did you miss me?" you asked, your voice innocent but layered with a lovesick longing that was impossible to hide. You always wanted to hear him say it, wanted him to acknowledge that he thought about you when you weren’t around.

Ronin’s smirk twitched. He was quick with his answer, too quick. "I was good. Y’know, like... I’m fine, darlin’." His voice was casual, but the way he flicked his gaze away from you betrayed him. He thought he was hiding it so well, but you could see the cracks. He wasn’t as cool and unaffected as he pretended to be.

You pursed your lips, a playful frown creasing your forehead as you watched him closely. "V lied about that too, didn’t he?" you pressed, your eyes narrowing just a little. "He told me you were fine without me, but... were you really okay, Ronin? With not talking to me?"

Your voice softened, a trace of vulnerability slipping through. You wanted to know the truth, wanted to hear it from him, even though you already suspected the answer.

Ronin’s jaw clenched, his hands digging deeper into his pockets. He was trying so hard to keep up the act, but you knew him too well. "I didn’t need to talk, I had to fuck up some cars." he said, his tone rougher than before, trying to deflect. "I was busy, y’know. Cleaning up my victims and all that." He shot you a devilish grin, trying to distract you with his usual dark humor. He wanted to keep it light, to rise you up out of your lovesick thoughts, but you could see right through him.

"Cleaning your victims, huh?" You let out a small laugh, tilting your head again as you walked a little closer to him, almost bumping his shoulder with yours. "Ronin, don’t lie to me. I know you better than that." Your voice was soft, gentle, but there was a certainty in it that made his attempt to dodge the question crumble even more.

He stopped walking for a second, glancing at you, his eyes darting to meet yours before looking away just as quickly. "It’s your fault I had to come out, you know?" he muttered, but the playful edge in his voice didn’t fully mask the truth. "I was layin’ low, had a good streak goin’, but no, you had to drag me back out, didn’t ya, darlin’? You should be sorry for ruining it."

"Sorry for ruining your perfect streak," you whispered, grinning despite the mock seriousness of his tone. But there was something in his words that made your heart skip a beat, something in the way he was still here with you, in the way he hadn’t really wanted to stay away.

He turned his head to look at you, and for a moment, his smirk faltered, his eyes flicking up and down as if he were sizing you up. "Grow some spine, will ya? You’re actin’ all pathetic," he teased, but there was no real venom in his voice. Just that post-ironic attitude, the way he tried so hard to play the role of the devilish rogue, but underneath it, you could feel the truth.

And it was so sweet, so Ronin. He thought he was being smooth, but you could see the cracks in his armor, and it only made you love him more.

"I’m not pathetic," you whispered, your heart fluttering as you took another step closer to him. "You missed me, didn’t you?" Your voice was lovesick, hopelessly romantic, like you were clinging to every word, every chance he’d let slip that maybe, just maybe, you meant something to him.

Ronin huffed, rolling his eyes, but his lips twitched again, betraying the fact that he couldn’t quite keep up the act. "You’re makin’ this harder than it needs to be, darlin’. I’m tellin’ ya, I was fine."

You smiled softly, tilting your head as you gazed up at him, your eyes soft with affection. "You weren’t fine," you said gently. "You missed me, didn’t you?"

He stopped walking again, his gaze locking onto yours. There was a brief silence, just the sound of your footsteps on the pavement and the distant hum of the city. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you, trying to keep up the facade, trying to maintain that devil-may-care attitude he always wore like a mask.

But you could see it, the way his eyes softened just a little, the way his posture relaxed ever so slightly. He was trying so hard to hide it, but he wasn’t doing a very good job.

"Christ," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "You’re impossible."

You giggled softly, feeling your heart swell with affection. "I knew it."

Ronin’s lips twitched again, and he glanced away, trying to regain his composure. "Stop actin’ so smug about it," he grumbled, but there was no real bite in his words. He was giving in, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

"You’re just my Ronin," you whispered, your voice full of that lovesick adoration that made him roll his eyes, but deep down, you knew he didn’t mind it as much as he pretended to.

You entered the small, brightly lit ice cream shop, a chime from the door announcing your arrival. The cool air hit your skin as you walked in, but something about the place felt off immediately. It wasn’t the place itself—it was the way every pair of eyes inside turned to look at Ronin the second he stepped through the door. The cashiers at the counter, the waitstaff, even a few customers… all of them paused, their gazes lingering on him for just a second too long, whispering and giggling among themselves.

Ronin noticed too, but, in typical fashion, he didn’t seem to care. He just strolled in like he owned the place, finding a booth in the corner and sitting down casually, his back resting against the wall. You followed, but as you took your seat across from him, you could feel your frustration building. Those eyes on him… the way they looked at him like he was some kind of sideshow attraction—it made your skin crawl.

You glanced at him, but he seemed perfectly at ease, arms stretched out along the back of the booth, his lips twitching into a faint smirk as he scanned the menu lazily. "So," he drawled, flicking his gaze up to meet yours. "What’re you having’?"

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes still scanning the room, catching more of those glances, more of those giggles from across the counter. Why were they looking at him like that? Maybe it was just coincidence. Maybe it was… something else. You forced yourself to focus and asked, “What do you want?”

Ronin leaned forward just slightly, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Apple crumble," he said, his voice low and teasing, like it was some private joke. He knew you’d catch the significance.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to stay composed, biting your lip as you glanced at the menu. "I… I don’t know what I want," you mumbled, feeling a little lost in your thoughts.

Ronin gave you a long, unreadable look, then leaned back again, his expression softening for just a second before he shrugged. "Get that 'flavor-name,' Ain’t it your favorite?"

You blinked, surprised. "Y-yeah, it is…" You smiled softly, nodding, but there was something distant about his expression, something faraway that flickered across his eyes for just a moment before he bounced back, his devil-may-care smirk returning. You were about to ask him what that was when a waitress appeared at your table.

She was all smiles, her attention laser-focused on Ronin like you weren’t even there. "Hi there! What can I get for you?" she asked, completely ignoring you. Your fingers clenched into fists under the table, a wave of irritation bubbling up inside you. But before you could say anything, Ronin answered, his tone cool and detached.

"Apple crumble."

The waitress giggled, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "That’s a great choice! Is your style, like, inspired by that serial killer book? You know, the one with the guy who—" She trailed off, giggling again, clearly trying to flirt.

Your heart dropped. You knew exactly what she was talking about. It was your book. The one you’d written, the one where the main character was based on none other than Ronin himself. And these idiots didn’t even realize it was you sitting right there. But of course, they’d recognized the clothing style—his whole look was...written by you the way you saw him!, the subtle touches only someone who knew would notice.

Before you could snap at her, tell her to fuck off and that it was your book, Ronin spoke up, his tone dark and playful. "Well, I know the writer personally," he said, his gaze drifting toward you with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Got plenty of inspiration, actually. And I think the writer did a damn fine job… wouldn't you say?"

The waitress, clueless, just laughed, her eyes still locked on Ronin. "Wow, really? Well, they must be really good at what they do!" She leaned in slightly, biting her lip. "You’re cute, you know that? I bet they wrote the character to be onto someone like me, huh?"

That was it. You snapped.

"Could you fuck off? you growled, your voice low and dangerous, every ounce of your lovesick adoration for Ronin now tinged with a fiery possessiveness. "I don’t care if you thinks he's-cute—I have money, and I’m not here for your stupid comments."

The waitress blinked, clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst. She let out a small huff and muttered something under her breath before walking off to place your order, but it was too late. Your anger was already burning hot, threatening to bubble over into something darker, something primal.

Ronin chuckled, his gaze sliding back to you, his eyes filled with that same devilish amusement. "Feelin’ a little murderous, are we, darlin’?" he teased, leaning forward, his voice a low purr. "You looked like you were about to tear her apart. Got something you wanna share?"

You clenched your jaw, trying to calm the storm inside you, but it was so hard when he was right there, taunting you, pushing all the right buttons like he always did. "I just…" You swallowed, your voice shaking with the intensity of your emotions. "I just can’t stand the way she looked at you. Like she had a chance."

Ronin smirked, leaning back in his seat again. "So, you’re jealous, huh? That’s cute. Really cute."

"Shut up," you muttered, but your voice lacked any real bite. You were lovesick, and he knew it. He always knew exactly how to twist you around his finger.

"Come on, darlin'," he whispered, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "She was harmless. Just a dumb waitress tryin’ to flirt. But you…" He leaned in close again, his breath warm against your ear. "You’re the one I’m here with, aren’t ya?"

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you with that unreadable expression. You could tell something was stirring beneath the surface, but with Ronin, it was always hard to tell what exactly. Finally, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Damn, darlin’, you’re worse than those fangirls and fanboys who come ‘round hopin’ to see the style in the flesh.”

You blinked in confusion, not quite sure what he meant. “What?”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement. “Y’know, when I’m at the garage, workin’ on scooters or cars—people come in, they recognize the style. The way I dress. The way I act.” He paused, his grin widening. “You wrote it so damn well that people think it’s me in real life. It’s like a show every time. They get all worked up, thinkin’ they’ve spotted the real deal.”

Your jaw clenched. Anger bubbled inside you again, not at him—never really at him—but at the world for not understanding that you were the one who crafted him so carefully, so intimately. You created this version of him, this persona that everyone else now saw as their own discovery. It made your blood boil, the way they fawned over him, completely missing the deeper connection you had.

Ronin’s eyes flicked over to you, and you knew he saw it. That anger bubbling beneath the surface, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. But, of course, Ronin was always good at seeing through you, pulling at the threads just to see how far you’d unravel.

He leaned forward, his smirk darkening. “Look at you, darlin’. You’re tryin’ so hard to keep that pretty little face of yours calm, but I can see it. You hate the way they look at me, don’t you? All that attention, all those eyes, and none of ‘em know what it’s really like to be close to me. But you do.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt yourself trembling, your pulse quickening. He was doing it again—getting inside your head, stirring up all those feelings that you tried so hard to control. And you couldn’t stop it. You didn’t want to stop it.

“Of course I do,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I hate it when they act like they know you. They don’t. They don’t know you, not like I do.”

Ronin laughed softly, a low, mocking sound that made your heart ache and flutter at the same time. “You’re somethin’ else, y’know that? Worse than the rest of ‘em, even. But that’s what makes you so fun, baby. The way you get all wound up over me.”

He was right, of course. You were worse than them. You were completely consumed by him, and he knew it. Every little look, every word, every touch sent you spiraling deeper into your obsession. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“I don’t care what you think,” you muttered, even though you knew it was a lie. “I just… I hate that they don’t see the real you. They just see the version of you that I wrote.”

Ronin’s eyes darkened, his smirk fading into something more serious, more intense. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “And what is the real me, huh? The one you see? The one you wrote?”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “The real you… you’re mine,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “You’re my Ronin.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you with that same unreadable expression. Then, slowly, his smirk returned, darker and more dangerous than before. “Yeah,” he said softly, his voice sending a thrill through your veins. “I guess I am, darlin’. I guess I am.”

Your heart swelled at his words, even though you knew better than to take them at face value. He was always playing games, always toying with your emotions, and yet, you couldn’t help but fall deeper every time.

“Shut up,” you muttered, but there was no heat behind your words. You were completely and utterly lovesick, and he knew it.

Ronin grinned, leaning back again with a satisfied smirk. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now, stop lookin’ so pissed, and enjoy your damn ice cream, darlin."

He finished his, soon.

Ronin leaned back with a long, exaggerated sigh as he shoved another bite of his apple crumble ice cream into his mouth. "One ice cream, darlin’? This is all we’re doin’? Christ, I’m tired of this bullshit already,” he grumbled, though you could see the small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. As always, he played at annoyance, but you knew better.

You smiled softly, spooning some of your ice cream as he shoveled through his. “If you’re tired, we can get out of here,” you said, trying not to sound too eager. You didn’t want to rush him, but the thought of spending more time together made your heart race.

He paused mid-scoop, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “You done already?”

You nodded, even though a part of you didn’t want to admit it. "Yeah… I mean, if you want another scoop though…”

He scoffed, looking distanced for a moment before narrowing his eyes, trying to read you. “Another scoop?” he repeated, almost like he was testing you.

You smiled, pushing through the tension. “I’ll buy it for you if you want.”

Ronin blinked, his expression unreadable for a second before he shook his head, letting out another one of those dramatic sighs. “You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You get me too well, it’s scary. Almost like you’re in my head sometimes.”

You couldn’t help but grin at that, your heart fluttering at the way he said it, even if it was meant to be a jab. “Well, it’s my turn to spoil you a little,” you said, winking playfully.

Ronin snorted, rolling his eyes. “Your bullshit’s so cute it’s killin’ me,” he muttered in that mock-annoyed tone, though the slight crinkle in his eyes told you he wasn’t really annoyed at all. He liked playing along, rising you up because it amused him, but there was always that undercurrent of something deeper. He didn’t admit it outright, but you could tell he enjoyed these moments—just you and him, even in the simplest ways.

You both stared at each other for a second, and then, with a shrug, he relented. “Fine. I want another scoop.”

Your smile grew, and you couldn’t help the way your heart swelled. “Alright. One more, coming right up.”

When the waitress brought the extra scoop, Ronin wasted no time digging in, and you watched him with quiet adoration. Every bite he took, every small, almost unconscious movement, made you feel like you were watching something special—something only you were privy to. It was ridiculous, but you couldn’t help it. He was your Ronin, no matter how much he pretended to push you away.

After a few bites, he caught you staring and raised an eyebrow. “What’re you lookin’ at?”

You blinked, snapping out of your lovesick daze, a small flush rising to your cheeks. “Nothing,” you muttered quickly, looking down at your empty bowl. “Just… you seem to be enjoying that.”

He paused, studying your face for a second before smirking. “You’re so easy to mess with, darlin’. But yeah, I guess it’s not bad.” He took another large bite, savoring it a little too dramatically to not be teasing you.

You couldn’t help but smile again. “I’m glad.”

Ronin let out a low chuckle, finishing his ice cream before standing up and stretching lazily. “Alright, that’s enough sugar for one night. Let’s get outta here.”

You nodded, standing up as well, though you hesitated for a second. “You sure you don’t want another scoop?”

He shot you a look, exasperated but amused. “Don’t push it. You already spoiled me enough.”

As you both made your way toward the exit, you couldn’t help the lightness in your step, even though you knew he’d never outright admit it. These small moments, even when filled with his teasing and sarcasm, meant more to you than he could ever know.

Ronin glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. "Stop grinnin’ like an idiot. You’re makin’ me regret ever lettin’ you spoil me.”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too wide, but the warmth inside you was impossible to contain. "You’re welcome, Ronin."

He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything more, just shoved his hands into his pockets and walked beside you, the night air cool and crisp as you both left the ice cream shop behind.

You said your goodbyes with him. Tho, he didn't show it. You can see maybe he did enjoy this day..

Things weren't so great.

You felt the familiar vibration of your phone as you made your way back to your house, alone after parting ways with Ronin. Your heart was still fluttering from the whole night, but the moment you saw the names on your notifications, reality hit like a truck. Angel, V, Misaki—they were all on your case, blowing up your phone.

You sighed, unlocking it and seeing their frantic DMs, especially from Angel, who was trying her best to keep V from spiraling.

Angel:

"Hey, I talked to V. He's pissed. I tried calming him down, but it's not working. You and Ronin really need to explain what happened. V is not gonna let this slide unless someone takes responsibility."

Your heart sank as you read her message, realizing just how badly things were spiraling. You quickly shot her a message back, hoping to at least ease her a little.

You:

"I went on a date with Ronin…"

It wasn’t long before Angel replied, and her concern bled through the screen.

Angel:

"A date? Oh god… Look, I’m not mad, but this is going to be a mess. V’s furious. Misaki’s trying to play it cool, but they feel bad for you. Just… be prepared. You need to explain everything. V won’t let it go."

As if on cue, your phone buzzed again, this time a notification from none other than Goreboy—Ronin’s online persona. You knew it was him even before you read the message, and something about his casual, detached tone made your heart race.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"What now, Darlin’? Don’t Freak. Just Follow My lead."

It was typical Ronin, brushing it off like it wasn’t a big deal, as if he hadn’t just upended your whole situation. Still, his confidence was oddly reassuring, and you couldn’t help but trust him.

You:

"Are you sure?"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Yes."

That was all you needed. You took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the inevitable storm as you all joined the group VC. The moment you entered, V was already going off.

"Explain yourself, Ronin!" V barked, his voice sharp and accusatory. "I don’t care what you think you’re doing. You should’ve stayed away from them!"

Ronin’s voice came through, calm and post-ironic as ever. "Y’know, V, you’re really makin’ this more fun than it needs to be." He drawled lazily, as if V’s anger was nothing more than a mild annoyance to him. "I didn’t ‘come after’ them, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. They showed up in my alley. I was just mindin’ my own business, darlin’ here just had to check on me."

You felt the familiar tug of lovesick warmth as he said that. He was defending himself, but in a way that still made it sound like it was your fault for being tempted by him. He knew how much you adored him, how much you’d do anything to be in his orbit. He played with it, as always.

V wasn’t having it, though. "Bullshit. You knew they’d come after you if you showed yourself. This is on you, Ronin. You’re dragging them into your mess."

Before you could stop yourself, you stepped in, heart racing. "No, V, it’s my fault. I… I wanted to see Ronin. It wasn’t him dragging me anywhere."

There was a heavy silence in the chat after you spoke. Angel and Misaki were quiet, unsure how to approach the situation. Misaki finally broke the silence, their voice soft but clear. "Poor you…" they muttered, almost to themselves

Angel sighed, her voice filled with sympathy. "Maybe… maybe it’s best to let them handle their own business. This is getting complicated."

V, however, wasn’t backing down. "This isn’t just their business. Ronin, you know better. You’ve got some sick game going on, and it’s not fair to them!"

Ronin laughed, the sound dark and mocking. "Oh, , I’m always playin’ games. You know that. But this time? I was just tempted. What can I say?" He chuckled again, clearly enjoying how much this was getting under V’s skin. "Besides, I told ‘em it was their fault for comin’ after me. I’m the devil, remember? It’s so easy to pull them in."

Your heart pounded in your chest as he said that, and something inside you snapped. "Stop blaming Ronin!" you yelled, voice cracking slightly. "It’s my fault! I wanted to see him! I’m the one who—"

Ronin’s voice cut you off, quieter but far more intense. "Enough." The weight of his tone silenced everyone. "It’s my fault I was tempted. That’s the truth. But you," he paused, and you could almost feel his eyes on you through the screen, "you need to log off for a bit. Let me handle this."

You hesitated, torn between your need to defend him and the strange, commanding weight his words held over you. You were lovesick, desperate to stay, to stand up for him, but he was telling you to go.

Angel spoke softly. "Maybe… maybe it’s for the best. Just… take a break for a bit. Let Ronin and V handle this."

Ronin’s voice came again, a little softer, though the devilish edge remained. "Yeah, darlin’. Log off. I’ll deal with V."

With a heavy heart, you nodded, even though no one could see you. "Okay," you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. "I’ll… I’ll go."

As soon as you logged off the call, Ronin messaged you, and all the other frantic DMs from V, Angel, and Misaki vanished into the background, their notifications irrelevant. It was like the world narrowed down to just Ronin—his presence wrapping around you like a vice.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Just kidding, darlin'."

Your heart skipped a beat. Kidding? Before you could even ask, his next message came through.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Logged off with Ya. Figured the show’s over, huh? Don’t worry, it’s all Part of the Game"

You stared at your phone, anger bubbling up. What the hell did he mean by that? You quickly shot him a message.

You:

"What the fudge did you do, Ronin?

His response came almost instantly, like he was just waiting for your reaction.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Relax, darlin'. Just played a little game. Y'know how V gets with his 'fucking justice' and 'fucking morals'. Thought I’d Ruffle his feathers a bit. It’s kinda Funny, don’tcha think?"

"Played a little game, that's all."

He sent the message so casually, as if the chaos he just caused was nothing. You could practically feel the smugness radiating from his words.

You:

"Annoying! I can't see anyone's messages except yours!"

He responded instantly, his words quick, almost playful.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Of course. It’s just You and Me, darlin’. Lovers tryna enjoy each other Without the Bullshit distractions. But V, with his fucking morals and justice, thinkin' you're getting influenced by yours truly."

His words dripped with that usual post-ironic tone, mocking yet dead serious. And somehow, that made your heart race even more. You knew he was right, at least about one thing: you were completely under his spell.

You:

"That’s… true."

There was a pause before his reply came through, and you could almost see him grinning on the other side of the screen.

Goreboy (Ronin):

But you Love* it, don't you, Darlin'?"

Your breath caught in your throat as you typed your response, fingers trembling slightly.

You:

"Yes…"

He was quick to pounce on that, pushing you further into his devilish web.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"I know ya do. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. So go with the flow!

His words made your pulse quicken, the way he so easily took control of the situation, twisting it into something that was just between the two of you. His devilish charm always made you feel like you were playing a dangerous game, but you couldn’t help but crave more.

You:

"It's annoying how well you know me."

Goreboy (Ronin):

"I had a Good Time Today, by the way."

You nearly jumped out of your chair, excitement bubbling up inside you. Your fingers instinctively kissed your palms, a gesture you often did when the thrill of your affection overwhelmed you.

You:

"Really? Oh my god, that’s so cute! I’m literally squealing right now!"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Christ, you’re Ridiculous. It's Embarrassing, honestly."

You could almost picture him rolling his eyes on the other side of the screen, but that only fueled your excitement more.

You:

"I can't help it! My love is riding the park on a unicorn of feelings!"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Ew. Seriously? What the Hell is wrong with You?"

But deep down, you knew he loved it.

You:

"So… is apple crumble your favorite flavor or what?" You asked, half-joking.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"No shit, Sherlock. How Pathetic is it that you don’t even know what I like?"

You pouted, feeling a mix of embarrassment and defiance.

You:

"Well, you never tell me a lot about yourself!"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Hmm, is that the case? You think I’m just gonna spill my guts to you, sweetheart? Maybe you’re just too wrapped up in your little fantasy world to notice."

You suddenly got a notification. Decided to check it than Check Ronin.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"........."

"Hello, Hell to Y/n."

"So, how’s your book coming along? I hope you’re writing about me, of course."

Dude, was down bad. He won't admit it of course. In truth the Devil wants yours attention.

Of course you are dumb to realize that he wants it. After seeing the nofication. You saw his messages

You couldn’t help but smile, a mix of pride and mischief bubbling inside you.

You:

" Oh, expect justice! I’m writing everything down! V is going to be sad because I got distracted by you, and now I have to rewrite so much."

Goreboy (Ronin):

" You finally replied. Ah, so I’m a Good inspiration For you, huh? How Adorable’."

The way he said “adorable” sent a thrill through you, igniting something darker beneath the surface.

You:

"It’s crazy! I even wrote about how much I love you, Ronin. It’s all in there—gore and all!"

His laughter came through the screen, dark and enticing.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Well, if we’re being honest here, My love for blood is Pretty Poetic, wouldn’t you say? It’s the ultimate Expression of affection. Give Me Your Aorta, sweetheart. Let me have it."

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, a strange thrill coursing through you as you pictured the grotesque imagery he conjured.

You:

"You want my aorta? For you, it’s yours. It’s not like I need it, right?"

Goreboy

"Aw, So cute."

K9 requests to message you

Goreboy (Ronin)

"V is really Trying to get you to Talk, but I Don’t Wanna deal with him right now. What Do you think? Focus on me or let Him Blabber on?"

You thought for a moment, weighing the options.

You:

"I guess we could let V talk... he does seem like he has something to say."

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Nope. I think you Should Focus On Me. I have a Better idea."

Your curiosity piqued.

You:

"What do you mean?"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"How about a round of Truth or Dare? I haven’t played that with you in ages, and it could be fun."

It took a second for the realization to hit you. This was a game you hadn’t played in forever, but the thrill of it sent a shiver down your spine.

You:

"Oh, I like the sound of that! But what about V?"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"We’ll deal with V later. Besides, if you Need Me to distract You from him, then I’m all yours."

His words were laced with something deeper, something tantalizing. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks.

You:

"So, you think your flesh and bone is enough to keep me distracted?"

He grinned, and it was the kind of grin that sent your heart racing.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"I bet I can Keep you Plenty Entertained."

You both laughed, the tension dissipating into playful banter.

You:

"Oh, please. You think you're all that? What’s so Special about You?"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Well, for starters, "Insert your liking about Ronin's character" . That’s pretty rare, don’t you think?"

You:

"Right, right. How Romantic."

Goreboy (Ronin):

"I know, I’m like a walking Romance novel, just with a bit more Blood and Guts."

You giggled, the absurdity of it making your heart flutter.

You:

"I can’t decide if that’s charming or disturbing."

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Why not both? It’s like the Best of Both Worlds, darling."

sorry for ppl who thinks this story will be sooooooooooo cute ^^

#killer chat x reader #killer chat ronin #killerchat #ronin beaufort #ronin x reader #goreboy x reader #ronin beaufort x reader #killer chat ronin x reader #killer chat vn #goreboy #ronin x you

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elysiaheaven · 19 days ago

Note

do you take requests? if you do, could i request ronin with a jirai kei/landmine mc? (landmine is typically used to refer to a girl (although, it can also be a guy) who is mentally unwell and on the verge of exploding, usually someone with bpd or bipolar)

if not, i 100% understand 😊

hi! I'm really tried my best to research if it's not accurate I'm so sorry.. also it's so cringe I made it so fluff imaooo

Words:1000!

Summary: you are bandaging him after a small accident

Genre: Fluff

Devotion-Ronin x G.N reader ^^

The air in your small apartment stinks of antiseptic. You’re kneeling on the stained carpet, frantically wrapping Ronin’s arm in gauze, trying to keep his skin together before the bleeding gets worse. His grin—obnoxious, smug, and endlessly irritating—remains intact despite the gash running from his shoulder down to his elbow.

“Should’ve seen it, babe. You should’ve seen how his face split open,” he chuckles, his voice raspy and far too casual for someone who just narrowly escaped murder charges. “I swear, it was art.”

You yank the bandage tighter than necessary, making him flinch.

"Ow. Easy, sweetheart."

“Shut up,” you snap, the sharpness in your voice cutting through the room like a knife. Your fingers tremble as you fasten the gauze into place, rage bubbling in your chest, threatening to boil over. It’s like every nerve in your body is frayed, ready to snap in half. “Just shut the hell up, Ronin. For five seconds. Do you know how close you were to getting caught? I had to drag your stupid body out of there!”

He doesn’t even flinch at the outburst. In fact, his grin grows wider, eyes gleaming with some twisted amusement. He’s enjoying this—the way you’re unraveling in front of him like a ribbon being pulled too hard from both ends.

“You’re so cute when you yell,” he says, leaning his head back against the wall, as if you aren't seething just inches away. "All dolled up in that pretty skirt, screaming like a little time bomb. God, I love you."

You grab a loose pillow from the couch and throw it at his face.

The pillow bounces off Ronin’s chest, but he catches it effortlessly, laughing softly under his breath. The sound grates on your nerves like nails on glass. You shove his shoulder—his injured shoulder—and he winces, though the grin never leaves his face.

“I swear to God, if you don’t stop—”

Before you can finish, he moves faster than you expect. His uninjured arm snakes around your waist, yanking you against him, despite your furious squirming. “What didja think, huh? That you were just gonna walk out on me?” His voice drops, a teasing drawl laced with menace, his words slithering into your ear.

"Let me go," you hiss, thrashing against his hold, but it’s no use. He tightens his grip, holding you firm like he’s cradling something precious that might shatter at any moment—and, God, maybe you will. The tension coiled inside you, the pressure building up like a bomb, is unbearable.

“Not happening, sweetheart.” He presses his lips to the top of your head, a mockery of tenderness. “Where else would you go, huh? You need me just as much as I need you.”

You hate how his words crawl under your skin, how they make you freeze for a moment too long. He knows exactly which buttons to push, exactly how to sink his claws in. You’ve tried so hard to stay composed, to keep the storm inside at bay, but with Ronin, the cracks in your armor spread faster than you can patch them.

"Don’t…" your voice falters, but you push at him again, weaker this time. "Don’t act like you care." The frustration and sadness twist together, tightening your chest like barbed wire. You hate him for making you feel this raw, this open.

“Oh, I care, darlin’. I care so much it hurts.” His hand slides up your back, slow and deliberate, grounding you even as you try to shove him away again. "That’s why you patched me up, didn’t you? You were scared."

"You almost got caught," you whisper, barely keeping it together. Your breathing’s erratic, the words stumbling out in broken pieces. "And now I’m stuck here… cleaning up your mess… again."

Ronin’s hand drifts up to your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His thumb traces the edge of your lips with a gentleness that makes your stomach turn. "You don’t have to fight me, sweetheart. I like you exactly the way you are—messy, angry, perfect.”

And that’s the worst part: You know he means it. He loves the chaos, feeds off it. Every time you teeter on the edge of breaking, he pulls you closer, cradling your madness like it’s something beautiful. And it scares you—how easily you could fall apart in his arms, how much you want to.

You sag against him, exhausted from the struggle, your body giving out before your mind can. Ronin’s arms tighten around you, holding you like a lifeline, like he knew all along you’d give in.

“There you go, Darling” he murmurs, a smile curling at the corner of his lips. "I’ve got you."

You lean into Ronin’s embrace, the tension in your muscles slowly unraveling as you sink against him, the warmth of his body contrasting with the chill of your frayed nerves. The soft thump of your heart beats steadily in your ears, a chaotic rhythm matching the swirl of emotions fighting for dominance within you.

“I know, I know,” he whispers, his voice low and soothing, almost conspiratorial, as if he’s sharing a secret meant only for you. “You’re a walking time bomb, but that’s what makes you so interesting.” He leans back slightly, just enough to catch your gaze, his devilish smirk never fading. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to watch a beautiful disaster unfold?”

You scowl at him, not in the mood for his games. “You think this is funny? You’re the reason I’m falling apart.”

Ronin chuckles softly, clearly amused. “Oh, babe, it’s way more entertaining than funny. You’re like a high-wire act without a safety net. Plus,” he adds, nudging your shoulder with his, “it’s not like I’m the one keeping secrets in a bloody basement.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “You don’t get it. This is real for me.” The shadows of your bipolar disorder loom large, threatening to engulf you. Some days, you can handle everything—navigate the chaos, juggle the highs and lows—but other days? It’s like being caught in a whirlwind, and right now, it feels like you’re spiraling toward the edge.

Ronin’s expression shifts, the playful glint in his eyes replaced with something deeper, more earnest. “Then let’s just be a mess together, yeah?” His fingers brush against your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. “I mean, we can be extra dysfunctional, and I’m all in."

“Dysfunctional isn’t the half of it,” you mutter, your voice softer, the edge of your anger dulling as you look into his dark eyes, searching for a flicker of understanding.

“Ah, but that’s where the fun lies.” He leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek, teasingly whispering, “Besides, being a little devilish is my specialty. It’s like… embracing the chaos instead of running from it.”

You want to resist his allure, the way he pulls you in with every word, but there’s an undeniable comfort in his presence. He seems to understand the storm raging inside you, even when you barely grasp it yourself. “What if I explode?” you ask, half-joking, half-terrified of the reality that sits beneath the surface.

“Then I’ll catch you,” he promises, deadpan, but his eyes sparkle with mischief. “And we’ll make a real mess of things. I’ll grab a mop, and you can scream all you want. Just don’t think for a second that I’d let you go.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the tension in your chest easing just a fraction. “You’re impossible.”

“Exactly.” He leans back against the wall, still cradling you in his arms. “And that’s why you love me.”

You push at his shoulder playfully, but there’s no real force behind it. “I don’t love you. I tolerate you.”

“Oh, please.” He raises an eyebrow, grinning like a cat who just caught the canary. “You’re wrapped around my finger, darling. But that’s okay; I like you a little unhinged.”

“Unhinged?” you echo, the term sending a shiver through you. It’s a label you often grapple with, one that feels too close to home.

“Yeah, it’s like a badge of honor.” His eyes gleam as he continues, “You’re wild, unpredictable, and a bit of a mess. It’s like your own personal chaos aesthetic.” He lifts his hands in mock exaggeration, as if you’re some rare work of art. “And don’t forget—you’re mine. I can handle the explosion.”

His confidence in you is infuriating, but also oddly reassuring. You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “You really think I can just… manage it all?”

Ronin nods, his gaze unwavering. “Of course. It’s all about balance, babe. You’ve got the fire; I’ve got the chaos. Together, we’re a beautiful disaster.”

You shake your head, a small smile creeping onto your lips despite yourself. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you keep me around. See? That makes you the worst, too.” His smirk returns, cocky and playful. “You’re just as twisted as I am.”

“Not even close,” you retort, but the laughter in your voice betrays you.

He pulls you even closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “You just wait, sweetheart. I’ll help you embrace your wild side. You’ll see.”

The uncertainty lingers, but for now, you allow yourself to melt into his embrace, comforted by the warmth and chaos he brings. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for today.

You sink deeper into Ronin's embrace, the tension easing from your shoulders as his warmth envelops you. Your mind is still a jumble of emotions, but the soft fabric of your oversized hoodie—a faded black with intricate, pastel-hued patches—feels comforting against your skin.

“Nice hoodie, babe. I love how you rock that look,” Ronin said sarcastically, his fingers grazing the delicate lace trim at the sleeves. “So perfectly chaotic. It’s like you’re ready to explode at any moment.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile threatens to break through. “It’s called style. Not everything has to be about violence, you know.” Your hoodie hangs off one shoulder, exposing the frilly strap of the pink lace tank underneath. You feel ridiculous, and yet… it’s part of who you are.

Ronin chuckles, tugging playfully at the hem of your hoodie. “It’s a cute look. That top is like a warning sign, and the ruffles are practically screaming for attention.” His tone is teasing, but there's a hint of sincerity behind it that makes your heart flutter.

“Like your bloody bandages aren’t attention-grabbing enough?” you shoot back, gesturing toward the makeshift dressing he’s wrapped around his arm. You can’t help but notice how the contrast between your softer, pastel colors and his dark attire highlights the chaos you both embody. His signature look—black ripped jeans, a loose maroon tee, and a battered leather jacket—only enhances his devil-may-care attitude.

“Hey, it’s all about the aesthetic,” he says, his grin wide and unapologetic. “You can’t have a true chaos vibe without a little blood, after all.”

You snort, shaking your head at his ridiculousness. “You’re such a punk.”

“And you’re my..darling.” he retorts, the wicked glint in his eyes making you blush. “Just think of it this way: We’re the perfect match. You’re the ticking time bomb in frills and lace, and I’m the charming devil.”

The juxtaposition of your two styles feels almost poetic in its absurdity. Your layered fishnet stockings peek out from beneath your frayed mini skirt, adorned with silver hardware and mismatched patches that tell stories of their own. Each piece of clothing is a reflection of your inner turmoil, each stitch a reminder of the battles fought and the scars worn like badges.

“Do you really think I’m cute like this?” you ask, vulnerability creeping into your voice. It’s not something you often share, and you can’t help but feel a rush of warmth at the way he’s studying you.

“Absolutely,” he replies, his tone suddenly serious. “You’re beautiful, even with..."

The soft fabric of your oversized T-shirt brushes against Ronin’s arm, the pastel pink covered in faint rips and band logos, a perfect reflection of your chaotic style. The high-waisted black skirt, shorts you wear flares slightly as you shift, the hem adorned with delicate lace that clashes and complements your chaotic aesthetic all at once.

You roll your eyes, the playful banter bringing a flicker of warmth to your cheeks. “Shut up. At least I’m not wearing a beanie indoors.”

“Hey, this beanie is a fashion statement,” he replies, his tone dripping with mock indignation as he pats the plum-colored fabric atop his head. “It keeps the artistic vibes alive, you know?”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you glance down at your outfit. The contrast of your clothes—delicate ruffles and lace with a touch of punk rock—makes you feel both fierce and fragile, just like your mind. The jirai kei aesthetic reflects you.. it's just your style..

“See? You’re practically a walking art piece.” Ronin shifts slightly, cradling you tighter against him, his thumb tracing the edge of your lace-trimmed collar. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to have a person like you on their arm?”

You huff, your expression softening despite your best efforts. “Just because I wear ruffles doesn’t mean I’m not capable of causing chaos.”

“I know,” he whispers, his voice low, and suddenly serious. “That’s what I love about you. You’re a contradiction, and it’s beautiful.”

His sincerity catches you off guard. You want to protest, to throw his words back at him, but instead, you find yourself melting further into his embrace. You can feel the tension in your body start to dissolve, even as the swirling storm in your mind rages on.

“Do you remember the first time I saw you in a stupid call?” Ronin continues, a playful lilt returning to his voice. “You were wearing that black and white striped shirt with a collar—adorable, and yet I could tell there was something simmering underneath.”

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t stop staring at me..I think?" you shoot back, trying to redirect the conversation, but the warmth in your chest only grows.

“It was the combination of the pastel colors,” he says, pretending to think deeply. “You looked like a cute little time bomb, just waiting to go off.”

Your cheeks flush again, and you fight the urge to bury your face in his chest. “Stop it.”

“Nope,” he says with a playful grin. “I’ll never stop. You’re like a little —adorable on the outside, and then boom!” He gestures dramatically, hands exploding outward as if reenacting your metaphorical detonation.

You can’t help but laugh, even though a part of you is still tense, a storm cloud brewing in the background. “I am not like that! I mean it's we....”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he replies, his tone teasing yet tender, “you definitely are. But that just makes me want to be around you more. I’ll be here when you go off. I’m not going anywhere.”

You shift your weight slightly, the hem of your clothing brushing against his jeans. “You might want to reconsider that.”

“Never. I’m addicted to your chaos.” He smirks, running a finger along the edge of your lace. “And besides, I think you need a little devilish distraction in your life.”

“Distraction?” you echo, raising an eyebrow. “Or danger?”

“Both. It’s a package deal,” he winks, the devil-may-care attitude shining through. “And trust me, with your flair for the dramatic and my penchant for chaos, we’ll create our own beautiful mess.”

You breathe in deeply, the tension slowly ebbing away as you absorb his playful confidence. The combination of your styles—his dark punk vibes and your jirai kei flair—creates a unique blend that feels so distinctly you.

“I guess I’m lucky to have you around to catch me when I explode,” you say, a soft smile breaking through the storm clouds in your mind.

“You bet,” he replies, his grin wide and mischievous. “But don’t think for a second I won’t enjoy the explosion, darling. I thrive in the chaos; I’ve told you before.”

You shake your head in disbelief, unable to suppress a giggle, “You’re incorrigible.”

“True, but you love it.” He pulls you closer, the warmth of his body wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

You shift slightly in Ronin’s embrace, the soft couch enveloping you like a cocoon, but the clock on the wall catches your eye. It’s getting late, and a wave of anxiety washes over you. “I really should head home,” you say reluctantly, glancing towards the door.

“Why?” He looks at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ve already made a mess of my heart, darling. You think I’ll let you just waltz out of here?”

You can’t help but laugh softly, the weight of your worries lightening for a moment. “I don’t want to disturb you, Ronin. I mean, you probably have… things to do.”

“Things to do?” He quirks an eyebrow, feigning incredulity. “What could possibly be more interesting than this?” He gestures dramatically around the room as if it’s a grand stage, but the intensity in his gaze is undeniable. “Just stay. I promise I won’t bite—much.”

You feel a flutter of excitement mixed with anxiety. “I don’t know. It’s late…”

“Please?” he adds, his voice lowering, taking on a soft, coaxing tone that makes your heart race. “Just stay a little longer. What’s the harm in that?”

Your resolve wavers, and you can feel the familiar tug of his devilish charm pulling you closer. “I really should…” you start, but he interrupts, playfully pushing you down on the couch. You can’t help but gasp as he pins you gently against the cushions, his body hovering over yours.

“What was that about going home?” he whispers, his face inches from yours, the warmth radiating from him sending shivers down your spine. Before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you, his lips brushing against yours with a teasing softness.

“Stay,” he murmurs against your mouth, kissing you again, deeper this time, his fingers tangling in your hair as if anchoring you to this moment.

You melt into him, the taste of him overwhelming your senses—spicy and sweet, the essence of him intoxicating. His kisses are fervent, almost desperate, as if he’s trying to convey everything he feels without words.

You push against him slightly, your thoughts a chaotic swirl, but the way he holds you tight makes it hard to think straight. “Ronin…” you whisper, but he kisses you again, silencing your protests.

In that moment, nothing else matters. Your worries slip away, replaced by the warmth of his body and the intensity of his gaze. You pull him closer, surrendering to the need building inside you. His kisses become a frantic melody, a rhythm that drowns out your thoughts and worries.

You realize you’ve given up the argument, leaning into him, the hesitation fading away. This is where you want to be—lost in the chaos, the devilish embrace of someone who understands your darkness. No words are needed; the warmth of his kisses speaks volumes, each one whispering a promise of what could be.

Ronin’s hold on you tightens, a possessive gesture that makes your heart race even faster. He can be so devilish, and yet, here in this moment, everything feels just right.

#killer chat x reader #killer chat ronin #killer chat vn #killerchat #killer chat v #killer chat ronin x reader #killer chat #ronin beaufort x reader #ronin beaufort #ronin x reader

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elysiaheaven · 17 days ago

Note

Instead of an aorta, how about mc offering ronin a lily carved out of bones glued together

Genre: Gore, Yandere

Summary: Instead of an aorta, how about mc offering ronin a lily carved out of bones glued together

( Reader is a g.n!)-(If you see somewhere in the lines mentioned as she/girl pls tell me! I just forgot to edit sometimes

TW: Blood, mentions of disturbing details, gore

The moon hung low, casting a haunting glow over the dimly lit room. Shadows danced on the walls, flickering with the light of a single candle, illuminating your masterpiece: a lily made entirely of bones. Each piece was meticulously carved, the edges sharp and jagged, glistening with the remnants of adhesive and a dark, crimson hue that gave the illusion of freshly shed blood.

You had spent hours gathering bones from the various places you and Ronin roamed—the forgotten alleyways, abandoned buildings, and even the woods where the whispers of the past lingered. You knew he would appreciate the grotesque beauty of your creation, a reflection of both your love and your twisted connection.

With a final glance, you secured the last petal, ensuring it was firmly attached, then stepped back, your heart racing in anticipation. This was it—your gift to Ronin. As you made your way to the living room, the faint sound of laughter echoed through the air, pulling you closer.

He was lounging on the couch, one leg draped over the other, a devilish grin plastered across his face as he flipped through a blood-stained magazine. The sight of him sent a thrill through you; he was everything you adored—chaotic, unpredictable, and utterly captivating.

“Look what I made for you,” you said, voice tinged with excitement. You held out the bone lily, its sharp edges glinting menacingly in the candlelight. Ronin’s laughter cut through the air, a sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“It’s a lily,” you replied, your voice filled with innocence, “a token of my love.”

He leaned forward, examining the gruesome floral creation, an expression of mock delight plastered on his face. “A lily? Really? You’ve become so rotten, just like me,” he chuckled, his gaze fixed on you, a twisted admiration lurking behind those dark eyes. “This is… delightfully grotesque.”

You beamed at his approval, your heart swelling with pride. “I thought you’d like it.”

He stood up, moving closer, his presence enveloping you. “Oh, I love it. Just look at the details.” He traced a finger along one of the petals, the sharpness causing a tiny bead of blood to emerge from his fingertip. “You know how to make a guy feel special.”

With a sudden motion, he lifted you into the air, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the wall, the bone lily clutched in your hands like a sacrificial offering. His breath was warm against your skin as he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a fierce, hungry kiss. The world around you melted away, leaving only the taste of iron and the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

The kiss deepened, becoming a dance of passion and chaos, and when he finally pulled away, a wild spark flickered in his eyes. “You’ve truly become a part of my world. A fitting companion for the Butcher,” he teased, his grin playful yet dangerous.

“Just wait until you see what I make next,” you replied cheekily, feeling exhilarated and dangerously alive.

The next day, as you explored your usual haunts, the air was thick with anticipation. You returned home to find a small, bloodied package wrapped in a stained cloth sitting on your table. Curiosity piqued, you unwrapped it, your heart racing at the sight: an aorta, still glistening with blood and life, veins pulsing with an eerie rhythm.

“Oh, Ronin,” you whispered, delightfully horrified. “You’re so romantic!”

You held the aorta close, admiring its grotesque beauty. The blood dripped down your fingers, staining your skin a deep crimson. You giggled, feeling giddy from the thrill of it all. “I think it’s perfect!”

From the shadows, Ronin leaned against the doorframe, watching you with an amused smirk. “You like it? I thought you might want to bathe with it.” His tone was playful, dripping with irony as he approached you.

“Do you want to join me? You look so pretty in red!” you offered innocently, gesturing toward the bathroom. “We could make a real mess.”

Ronin’s laughter echoed in the small space as he stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” He took the aorta from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours, sending a thrill through you. “But who am I to refuse such an offer?”

With that, he led you to the bathroom, where the tub awaited, ready to be filled with water and blood—the perfect mix for two chaotic souls who thrived in the darkness. You both shed your clothes, the water rising as you slipped in together, your laughter mingling with the warmth of the blood, a beautiful, horrifying symphony of love and madness.

You sat together, the reality of your bond settled in—the grotesque beauty of it all, the way you both embraced the chaos of life and death, love and horror. In that moment, you knew you were forever intertwined, a pair of twisted souls thriving in a world made for the wicked.

In shadows deep where secrets creep, Two hearts entwined, a vow to keep. With bone and blood, your gift unfolds, A lily wrought from tales untold. From haunted halls where whispers wail, You danced with death, you forged the pale. With jagged edges, sharp and bright, A love like ours, a thrilling blight. Oh, what a beauty, grotesque and rare, In crimson hues, we breathe despair. You stand adorned in the shades of night, In laughter’s grip, our souls take flight. Aorta wrapped in cloth of sin, A testament to where we’ve been. Your eyes, they gleam with mischief's spark, Two kindred spirits, we embrace the dark. “Shall we bathe in crimson, my lovely fiend?” With every droplet, our passions gleaned. In waters thick with life and dread, We find our solace, where angels fear to tread. So here we dwell, in shadows' nest, Two twisted souls, forever blessed. In love's embrace, we stake our claim, In this wicked dance, we’ll never be tame. For even the devil can weep and sigh, In the arms of love, where boundaries die. So let us revel, let chaos reign, In this cursed bliss, we’ll never feel pain.

#killer chat ronin #ronin beaufort x reader #ronin killer chat #ronin beaufort #ronin x reader #killerchat #killer chat vn

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elysiaheaven · 17 days ago

Note

Please some Ronin headcanons with a actual fallen angel!

Eclipse of Wings- Please lemme know if i should make this as a series ^^ in comments!!

You don't have to meet the devil, itself, When you meet its butcher.

Words:3000

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Summary: You fell into a worse place than hell, Humanity- Try not to be sinned little angel.

( Reader is a g.n!)-(let me know if there were places where she/her were mentioned i will fix them ^^)

TW: Violence, Blood, Mentions of religious trauma,

A fallen angel draped in sin, With wings in tatters, pale as thin, They treads through dusk, love half-decayed, A dreamer lost, yet unafraid.

And by their side, the butcher grins, With crimson hands and violet sins, He carves through hearts, dark hymns in mind, A twisted lover, raw and blind.

His love is poison, sharp and sweet, Where heaven’s loss and hellfire meet— A crown of thorns, a kiss of glass, Two broken souls that shadows cast.

Together they dance, grotesque yet whole, A martyr’s heart, a devil’s soul. Bound not by light, nor chains above— But by ruin, by chaos, by love.

You fall.

The sky yawns open, pulling away like a curtain, and the light dims behind you until it is nothing but a pinprick. The clouds part as if ashamed to touch you, and the heavens above—where you once belonged—fade into silence.

You don't remember what you did, only that they said you were guilty. It didn’t matter how much you protested. No matter how fiercely you clung to your truth, they cast you out.

The wind burns against your skin as you plummet, rushing past in furious currents that howl as if trying to tear your wings apart. But they remain white—untouched, pristine, a silent testimony that you never sinned. Still, the gates are closed now.

You can’t go back.

The memory of your last thought before the fall clings like a whisper at the edges of your mind. I don’t want to go back. I don’t care anymore. The place you once cherished feels more distant now than the stars that blink faintly against the endless sky. They had called it paradise, but if that was heaven… why did it feel so cold?

You try to remember who you were, what your purpose had been, but it’s gone��stripped away in the fall. The world below grows closer, rushing toward you with a strange kind of promise. You don't know what awaits, but you wonder: Maybe it will be kinder down there? Perhaps the earth will cradle you where the heavens would not.

Only the quiet hope that maybe—just maybe—this new world will offer what heaven never could.

A place to belong.

And if it doesn't? Well… At least you’ll have your wings.

You crash through the sky, wings struggling to slow your descent, but it’s too late. The world blurs—branches tear at your feathers, wooden beams snap beneath your weight, and you crumble into the ruins of a forgotten house. The impact jars you to the bone, forcing the breath from your lungs in a ragged gasp.

Dust settles slowly, dancing in the streaks of moonlight slipping through the shattered roof. The walls groan, barely held together, as if this place might fall apart with one more wrong breath. But that isn’t what holds your attention.

From the debris, you see him.

Boots scuff against the cracked floor, deliberate and lazy, as a figure steps into the light. Long legs, leather-clad, stop just a few feet from your crumpled form. Then you meet his gaze—two cold black eyes, sharp with a kind of madness that feels both dangerous and oddly amused. There is something familiar in them. Not kindness, no. But recognition. The eyes of someone who’s been burned by the divine before.

And then—he laughs.

It’s a jagged, wicked sound that fills the hollow space, echoing off broken walls. Like something cracked open inside him, something bitter and ancient, and he can't stop himself. The sound isn’t joyous. It’s full of disbelief and mockery, like he’s laughing at a cruel cosmic joke only he understands.

"So... gods really do exist, huh?" he sneers, dragging a hand through his plum-colored hair as if the very thought exhausts him. "And they’ve got jokes—big ones." His laugh continues, sharp and biting, as though it's the first good joke he's heard in years.

You try to sit up, wincing, wings shifting behind you. That's when his gaze snaps down, pinning you in place. His eyes darken further, narrowing as they rake over you from head to toe—and then stop. He stares at your wings. White. Pure, unmarred, still glistening with celestial grace even as you lie on the cold, cracked floor.

The grin on his face falters, twisted into something halfway between shock and curiosity. "...What?" His voice drops into a low growl, disbelief flickering like embers beneath the words. "No. No way. White wings? That’s... impossible."

He crouches beside you now, face inches from yours, as if needing to see it up close. His eyes narrow, suspicion curling in his gaze. "Fallen angels don't get white wings. They turn black—every time. I’ve read the damn scriptures. So how...?"

You open your mouth, but no words come. The memories are gone, scattered to the wind, leaving you hollow. You don't even know who you are, let alone why your wings stayed white. All you know is that you're not supposed to be here. Not like this.

The man tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle that’s missing pieces. Then his grin returns, sharp and dangerous, a twisted kind of excitement lighting up his features. "You... you're a.."

He chuckles, standing up, dragging a crowbar from the strap on his belt with a slow, deliberate movement. The metal gleams under the faint moonlight. "You know, I hated that place. Angelwood—whatever the hell you wanna call it. They really know how to screw you over. But this? Even Heaven does the same." He gestures to you with the crowbar, grinning wider now, teeth bared. "This is something new."

His voice lowers to a purr, wickedly soft. "Killing you... oh, that’s gonna be fun."

He takes a step closer, his shadow falling over you completely. The air between you hums with tension, the kind that promises violence—or worse. And yet, something in the way he looks at you feels more like fascination than hatred, like a predator finding something rare and exquisite.

He leans in one last time, his breath hot against your skin, voice dripping with malice and intrigue. "Let’s see what makes you tick, angel."

You wake with a start, every muscle aching, wrists pulled taut above your head. The cold bite of iron chains digs into your skin. You try to move, but the clink of metal tells you that escape is out of reach. Your wings—still white—flutter weakly behind you, brushing against stone walls that feel damp and ancient, as if they’ve been standing for centuries.

Across from you, in the dim glow of a flickering lamp, he sits slouched in a chair, legs spread lazily, elbows resting on his knees. He twirls the crowbar idly in one hand, as if it’s just another toy in his collection. His black eyes gleam, watching you stir, and a sly grin creeps across his face.

"Morning, darling," he murmurs, the words slithering from his mouth with a teasing lilt. "Sleep well?"

You tug at the chains desperately, panic blooming in your chest. "Where... where am I?" you rasp, throat dry and aching. "What is this place?"

He leans back, grinning like the answer’s a private joke. "Hell."

The word slams into you, cold and sharp. For a moment, everything inside you breaks apart. You thought it was a place, a concept whispered in cautionary tales—a nightmare never meant to be real. And now you’re here. Trapped. Forgotten. Left to rot.

You shake your head violently, heart hammering. "No, no, no. I didn’t do anything! I—I swear! It wasn’t me!" Your voice cracks, words tumbling out faster as if saying them enough will make them true. "They did this! They—!"

He watches you unravel with a bemused expression, like someone enjoying a twisted performance.

"I can’t remember!" you cry out, vision blurring with hot tears. "I can’t remember what I did! I just want to go back—please, let me go!" The chains rattle as you writhe against them, wings drooping helplessly behind you. "I didn’t do anything wrong!"

He snickers, the sound low and dangerous. "You’re a real mess, you know that?"

The grin on his face spreads wider, as if savoring every second of your misery. "You fall out of the sky, land right in my lap, and now you're sobbing all over yourself like that’s gonna fix anything." He shifts forward in the chair, resting his chin lazily in one hand. "C’mon, angel, you really think they’d let you fall for no reason?"

The words hit you like a knife to the chest. You choke on your next breath, tears running freely down your face. "But I—I didn’t—!"

He interrupts with a casual hum. "Shhh, darling." The nickname is soft but drenched in mockery. "You’re not in heaven anymore. You’re in my house now. So why don't you calm down?"

Through your sobs, you dare to ask the question clawing at the back of your mind. "Are… are you—" You swallow hard, trembling. "Are you Satan?"

He pauses. For a moment, you see something flicker behind his blackened gaze—amusement, yes, but also something darker. Enjoyment.

Then, with a slow, devilish grin, he leans closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "Yeah," he whispers, the word like poison dripping from his lips. "That’s me. I’m here to haunt you, angel."

You let out a soft, broken sob, the weight of his answer crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Everything you thought you knew crumbles to dust beneath the realization. You’ve fallen from grace, your wings still white, and now the devil himself has you in chains. There’s no going back.

He watches you with a gleeful fascination as you cry—deep, heart-wrenching sobs that seem to echo off the cold stone walls. The sound only seems to amuse him further, as if your suffering is a gift he never expected.

"Don’t cry too much, darling," he whispers, leaning in so close you can feel the brush of his lips against your ear. "We’re just getting started."

He sighs, leaning back in his chair and tapping the crowbar absently against his knee. "You’re just as messed up as the rest of us, angel. Kinda funny, isn't it? You fell for questioning too much."

He watches as you crumble beneath the weight of it all, exhaustion pulling you under. Your sobs slow, your body slackens, and your eyes begin to close despite the chains biting into your wrists.

As your consciousness slips away, you hear his voice, soft and unsettling in the darkness:

"You know, darling… we’ve all got a little religious trauma. Some just hide it better."

And with that, the world drifts to black.

He leans back, watching you sleep with a strange expression—half amused, half something else. "You are going to be," he mutters under his breath, tapping the crowbar against his boot.

"Ruined, just like the rest of us."

You woke slowly, disoriented, your mind thick with exhaustion. Your wings—thankfully, still white—were crumpled awkwardly beneath you, aching but intact. The room around you was strange, unsettling. Red walls surrounded you, drenched in a hue that felt oppressive and heavy, like the air itself carried some unspoken malevolence. It didn’t look like the heaven you remembered, nor did it feel like the hell you imagined.

A dim square light flickered in the corner—a glowing box with images flashing across it, fast and incomprehensible. It unsettled you further. Stacks of boxes littered the room, messily piled on top of each other, as if whoever lived here didn't care much for order. Your gaze landed on several jars along a shelf—and what you saw inside them made your heart lurch. Human remains. In one jar, a shriveled brain floated in some cloudy liquid. Your breath hitched, and you nearly screamed but slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle it. You stumbled back, your legs weak beneath you, and tripped over the edge of the bed.

Trying to steady yourself, you noticed a strange chest at your feet. It had "MY STUFF" scribbled on the top in messy handwriting. Something glinted on top—a small knife. Your trembling fingers reached for it. You held the blade awkwardly, staring at it as thoughts flickered through your mind. Could you use it? Could you kill whoever left you here?

But the thought fled as soon as it came. You weren’t a killer. The knife felt heavy in your hands, foreign and wrong. Slowly, you placed it back on the chest. Instead, you focused on the bed—rumpled sheets and an unmade blanket tangled beneath you. Something about the mess made your chest tighten. You didn’t fully understand why, but… you wanted to fix it. You straightened the sheets, your hands clumsy but determined, folding the corners like it was a ritual. It gave you something to focus on, at least—something normal.

Just as you finished smoothing the blanket, a sharp tingle crawled down your spine. Someone was here. You could feel it—like a presence looming just out of sight, waiting. You tried to spread your wings, desperate to fly, but they ached too much, the muscles too weak. A sharp pang shot through you, and you winced, folding them against your back.

That’s when you saw him. A figure, drenched in blood, stood in the doorway. He wore a mask—something grotesque and stitched, like a face pieced together from nightmares. His clothes were stained with red, and he reeked of death.

Panic surged through you. You stumbled back, falling onto the bed, your pulse pounding in your ears. You shut your eyes tight, clutching the blanket like it could shield you from whatever came next. "God, save me," you whispered, voice cracking, though the words felt hollow even as they left your lips. You knew the truth deep down—God wasn’t coming. If He cared, you wouldn’t be here. If He cared, you wouldn’t have fallen.

The figure moved closer, slow, deliberate footsteps echoing through the room. You curled into yourself, too overwhelmed to do anything but plead. “Please… just kill me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, trembling and broken. “I don’t care anymore. Just… just don’t do it here. This isn’t even my room.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Then, the man threw back his head—and laughed. The sound was jarring, almost manic, a mix of delight and disbelief. He laughed so hard you thought he might fall over, and when he finally stopped, tears glistened in his eyes.

"What are you, stupid?" he said between chuckles, his voice rough but playful, like someone who found the whole situation absurd. "Seriously? Darling angel, you really think I’m going to kill you?” He wiped his eyes, still grinning as he reached up to remove the mask.

The sight made your heart stutter. Beneath the bloodied mask was the same man you had seen when you first fell—plum-colored hair sticking out in messy strands beneath a black beanie, a sly grin on his face, and eyes black as the void.

Your breath hitched. "You…"

He gave you a crooked smile, as if reading your thoughts. “Yeah. It’s me, darling.”

Your mind struggled to process what you were seeing. "Satan?" The word fell from your lips like a prayer.

He leaned in closer, resting his elbows on the edge of the bed, grinning like the devil himself. “Bingo, angel.”

You blinked, stunned and disoriented, tears still clinging to your lashes. The disbelief must have been clear on your face because he laughed again, softer this time. "What, you expected horns and a pitchfork? Sorry to disappoint."

You swallowed hard, confusion knotting your thoughts. "But… why? Why are you keeping me here?"

He shrugged, his grin never faltering. "Seemed like a waste to let you die, that’s all." Then, his expression softened—just a fraction, but enough to unsettle you. “And besides… you and me? Looks like we’ve both been ruined by the same guy.”

You furrowed your brow, the words not quite clicking. "Ruined?" you echoed, still dazed.

He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Yeah,” he whispered. "Ruined by God. Ain’t it funny how that works?"

He leaned back, resting his head against the wall, a sly grin curling his lips. “You know what they call me down here?” he asked, voice low and taunting. “The Devil’s Butcher. I take care of the stupid ones.” His black eyes gleamed with amusement, as if daring you to react. "Hack 'em up nice and neat—people who don't know when to shut their mouths. Idiots, really.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you pressed your back against the bed’s headboard as if it might swallow you whole. The word butcher echoed in your mind, twisted with images of the jars of human remains you’d seen earlier. Your stomach churned, and you struggled to keep the panic at bay.

He watched your reaction closely, clearly amused. “Oh, come on, angel,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Don’t look so scared. I mean, I could butcher you right here…” He let the threat hang in the air, watching your eyes widen with fear. “But that’d be too easy. I prefer to take my time.”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling. “A-Are you… like a shoulder devil too?” you asked, desperate to grasp onto any thread of normalcy. “You know, the little voice that gives bad advice?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the question. Then he burst into laughter—a loud, genuine laugh that echoed off the walls. “A shoulder devil?! You’re really something else, angel.” He shook his head, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. "Wow. You’re even dumber than I thought. It’s adorable."

You frowned, tilting your head. “Wait… then what are you?”

He smirked, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. “I’m human, sweetheart.”

The realization hit you like a slap. "What?!" You stared at him, stunned, your mind struggling to reconcile what you were hearing with the image of the terrifying, bloodied man sitting before you. "You're not Satan?"

He laughed again, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Nope. Just a guy with a hobby.”

Your confusion deepened, and you could feel tears prickling the corners of your eyes again. "But you said—"

He cut you off with a playful smirk. “I was just messing with you. God, you’re easy to freak out.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he studied you. "All that innocence… it’s too tempting not to play with.”

You stared at him, stunned and humiliated. The fear and tension you’d felt moments before morphed into frustration. "Why would you do that?" you asked, your voice small but sharp with indignation.

He shrugged casually, clearly unbothered. “Because it’s fun. And you’re cute when you’re scared.”

You scowled, wrapping your arms around yourself. "That’s not funny."

He chuckled again, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Aw, come on, darling. You’ve got to admit, you fell for it pretty hard.” He gave you a wink. “Don’t worry, though. I don’t really butcher people. Not unless they ask nicely. It's a lie too."

The grin he shot you was wicked, and you couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. One thing was certain: this man—whoever he was—was dangerous in more ways than one. And now, you were stuck with him.

You blacked out, your body crumpling into the bed with the weight of exhaustion, fear, and confusion. Ronin blinked down at you, tilting his head, his plum-colored hair flopping lazily beneath the black beanie.

“Aw, damn,” he muttered to himself, crouching next to the bed. “I was just messin’ with ya.” He sighed, but there was an amused glint in his eyes. Without much effort, he lifted you off the cold floor and placed you carefully back on the bed, draping your still-white wings over you like a soft blanket. “There. All cozy, angel.” He gave your unconscious form a smirk. “Sweet dreams in the Butcher’s den, huh?”

He stretched, sat on his, and slumped into a worn-out chair. His thumbs moved rapidly across the screen as he opened the server—the , his little playground of chaos. The server, exclusive to serial killers, was more of a circus than anything else. From assassins to vigilantes, everyone here wore their insanity like a badge of honor.

His screen lit up with notifications.

Ronin (handle: goreboy) tapped a message into the server:

goreboy: "Yo. So guess what? Turns out angels actually exist. 🤡"

The server exploded almost immediately with replies.

hitmeupppp: "wtf stop lyin"

k9: "Your idiocy has reached new heights."

V, aka K9, had zero patience for Ronin's antics. A justice-obsessed vigilante serial killer, V was practically allergic to Ronin's devil-may-care attitude and frequently threatened to kill him for “wasting oxygen.”

angeleicc: "…what."

A private message followed immediately.

angeleicc (DM): "Ronin. Are you okay? What do you mean angels exist?"

Ronin grinned as he thumbed out a reply.

goreboy: "Lol. Don't worry about it. Focus on tellin’ your lil simps to like and subscribe 💀"

Angel was not impressed.

angeleicc (DM): "Ronin. What’s going on? Something’s bothering you, I can tell."

Ronin rolled his eyes. Angel was always doing that—trying to peel back the layers, as if she could find anything underneath worth saving. Not that she’d stop.

He typed out a response with a grin:

goreboy (DM): "Nah, babe. I’m good. Swear on my crowbar."

Then he sent a devil emoji. 😈

Before she could respond again, he hopped back into the server His grin widened as the chaos unfolded.

k9: "Swear to god, Ronin, I’ll kill you if you’re screwing around."

goreboy: "I am never not screwing around."

hitmeupppp: "ok but like fr is this some weird larp or did u actually see an angel??? ��"

Ronin leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head, looking at your sleeping figure. Your wings shifted gently with your breathing, your innocence clinging to you like a stubborn ghost.

He smirked and typed:

goreboy: "Not sayin’ much, but if God tossed an angel outta heaven, I guess Hell’s playground just got a lot more interesting. Stay tuned, kiddos."

He sent a gif of the devil tap-dancing and hit send. His notifications were already blowing up, but Angel sent one last DM before he could log off.

angeleicc (DM): "If you’re really okay.

Ronin rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

Ronin propped his feet up on the edge of the bed, still smirking as his phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime request. Angel. He snickered, debating if he should pick up.

"Ah, why not," he murmured, accepting the call.

Her face appeared on the screen—pouty lips, perfectly winged eyeliner, and her signature exasperated look already forming. “Ronin!” she whined the second the camera connected. “What the hell is going on?”

“Sup, Angel,” he said, grinning wide, leaning back lazily in the chair. “Miss my pretty lil face or what?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “I always regret answering your calls—" Then her eyes sharpened. "Wait. Hold up." She leaned closer into her screen, squinting. "Why the hell is there—who’s that?! Is that a person in your bed?”

Ronin tried to stifle his laugh but failed spectacularly. “Ohhh, this? That’s the angel I was telling you about.”

Angel puffed up her cheeks in disbelief, fuming. “You better not be joking, Ronin! What, did you finally get a lover or something? If you did, you better tell me right now!”

Ronin chuckled, low and smug. “Nah. Still single and ready to corrupt, babe.” He held the phone out, angling it towards your unconscious form. You were still tucked under your wings, shifting slightly in your sleep.

Angel squinted harder, utterly perplexed. “You’re saying… that is the angel?”

“Yeah,” Ronin said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Check this out.”

With a wicked grin, he reached over, gently plucking a small feather from your wing. The moment he did, you flinched in your sleep, your wings giving a slight, unconscious flutter—just enough to make Angel gasp.

“Holy shit!” she whispered, eyes wide. “Ronin… you were serious?!”

Ronin's grin stretched wider, devilishly entertained by her shock. “Told ya, Angel. I wasn’t messing around. Say hello to God’s little dropout.”

Angel stared at the screen, frozen for a moment. Then, finally, she let out a slow exhale. “…Okay, that’s freakin’ wild. I thought you were trolling.”

Ronin gave her a mock-serious look, placing a hand over his heart. “Angel, you wound me. When have I ever trolled?”

She deadpanned. “All the time.”

He chuckled. “Fair.”

Angel blinked again, disbelief still clouding her expression. “What are you even gonna do with an actual angel? Dude, you can’t just keep them like a stray cat.”

Ronin’s grin turned sharper, his dark eyes gleaming. “Oh, but I can, Angel. I really can.”

#killer chat ronin #ronin killer chat #killerchat #ronin beaufort x reader #ronin beaufort #ronin x reader #killer chat vn #killer chat x reader #ronin x you

27 notes · View notes

elysiaheaven · 17 days ago

Note

KC cast when breakup with their s/o!

THIS WAS A PAIN TO WRITE!!

KC cast when breakup with their s/o! This could be ooc for some characters! ^^

Ronin- The Devil's Butcher

“Hey, so…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can we talk about us? Like, seriously?”

His eyes sparkled with mischief, and he straightened, stepping closer. “What’s there to talk about? I thought we were having a blast!” He leaned in, his tone dripping with irony. “You know, living the dream, fighting against the mundane, embracing our tragic romance like the protagonists of some angsty novel?”

“Ronin, stop joking around,” you pleaded, trying to inject some seriousness into the moment. “This isn’t funny. I’m serious.”

“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?” He cocked his head to the side, the grin never leaving his lips. “You know I thrive on the ridiculousness of it all. Why break up with you when I can just keep toying with your emotions like a cat with a mouse?”

Your heart sank, confusion mixing with frustration. “You think this is a game? That I’m just some toy for you to play with?”

He stepped back, letting out a soft chuckle, his eyes glinting with a twisted delight. “Oh, sweetheart, you know you’re much more than that. You’re like… my favorite game. But maybe I’m just getting bored of playing.”

“Bored?” you echoed, disbelief flooding your voice. “You can’t be serious.”

He shrugged, the casualness of his movements almost mocking. “Oh, I’m dead serious. Think about it. You and me? It’s like the best horror movie plot twist, isn’t it? The classic ‘I can’t handle your intensity, so I’m gonna ghost you’ moment.” He tilted his head, pretending to ponder, then added, “How about we make it a dramatic exit? It’d be so much more entertaining.”

A lump formed in your throat. “So you’re just going to throw this away? Everything we’ve built?”

“Built? Ha! We were more like a rickety shack on the edge of a cliff, darling. All it takes is one little push to watch it tumble into the abyss. And honestly? I’m just not feeling the adrenaline anymore.” He looked at you, his eyes piercing but playful. “I mean, how many more times can I listen to you tell me to stop joking before it gets boring?”

You felt your heart ache, each word cutting deeper. “You’re breaking up with me because you’re bored? Because you think it’s a game?”

“Pretty much.” He smiled, the devilish glint in his eye never fading. “But hey, it’s been a hell of a ride, hasn’t it? Maybe we’ll meet again in some alternate universe, where I’m not such an asshole.”

After the breakup, Ronin maintains his usual devil-may-care attitude, plastering on that signature smirk and making dark jokes to anyone who’ll listen. However, inside, he feels a swirling storm of regret and fear, a feeling he rarely acknowledges. The laughter and playful teasing mask a gnawing worry about the void left in his life.

His love for the theatricality of life makes it hard for him to admit he’s hurting. The post-ironic lens he views the world through twists everything into a dark joke, making it hard for him to understand his own feelings. He chuckles to himself, thinking, Is this the part where I dramatically reflect on my life choices?

Ronin realizes that he enjoyed the challenge of corrupting and rebuilding you, but now it feels like a game lost. He’s torn between his pleasure in manipulation and a deeper, unsettling craving for genuine connection. The thrill of twisting your mind now feels empty without you there to play against.

He finds himself haunted by memories of your time together, often replaying conversations in his mind. The little things—your laughter, your exasperated eye rolls at his dark humor—sting more than he expected. The thought of you moving on fills him with an irrational panic.

In an attempt to distract himself from the ache, Ronin immerses himself in his "work," spiraling deeper into his more devilish tendencies. He takes on riskier jobs, pushing his limits and living dangerously, thinking it might fill the void. However, each time he looks into the eyes of his victims, he sees glimpses of you, and it only deepens his conflict.

Alone at night, when the chaos quiets, the mask begins to slip. He stares at the ceiling, reflecting on what it means to be "the Butcher." The irony isn’t lost on him; here he is, a killer yearning for something real, grappling with emotions he deemed beneath him. The image of your face haunts him, and he wonders if he pushed you away because he feared his own growing attachment.

Ronin feels a sense of freedom in being alone, yet it frightens him. His nature thrives in chaos, and the loss of your vibrant presence leaves him feeling empty. He fears that if he opens up to the idea of missing you, it might lead to a vulnerability he’s not ready to face.

He engages in his twisted thoughts, he reflects on whether he could have manipulated the situation differently, wondering if he should have pushed back against the fear instead of giving in. His mind flirts with the idea of reconnecting, yet he recoils, convinced that his devilish nature could never let him be truly vulnerable with you again.

Ronin begins to write poetry, scribbling down his thoughts in a dark notebook. Each line drips with irony, masked in the guise of self-deprecation and humor, but they reveal the heartache he tries to hide. In those moments, he questions if he’s become the very monster he sought to control, lost to his own games.

In the end, he knows he’ll keep cycling through this madness: flirting with danger, toying with the idea of reaching out, all while holding onto the mask of the devil he has carefully crafted. But deep down, the conflict remains—he misses you more than he’s willing to admit, and the fun of corruption no longer feels like enough to fill the chasm you left behind.

After the breakup, Ronin maintains his usual devil-may-care attitude, plastering on that signature smirk and making dark jokes to anyone who’ll listen. However, inside, he feels a swirling storm of regret and fear. maybe... He will mask it. It's been easy for him...

It's just another tragic love story!!

Ronin slouched in his chair, a scowl etched across his face as he tapped his phone impatiently. Angel had been the only one to check in on him since the breakup, her concern unrelenting even as he tried to distance himself from anyone who might dig deeper. He didn’t need pity; he was the Butcher, the devil in disguise. But the screen lit up with her name, and against his better judgment, he opened the message.

Angel: Hey, just wanted to check in. Have you been okay?

He scoffed at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, hesitant. Didja think I care? Nope.

The response felt empty even as he hit send, and he leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. A part of him relished the chance to brush her off, to maintain his devil-may-care image. But there was a gnawing doubt creeping in, an itch beneath his skin.

Angel: You don’t have to pretend with me. You know I care about you, right?

He rolled his eyes, dismissing her concern as he replied, So fun. The sarcasm dripped off his words like poison, but as soon as he hit send, he felt a hollowness settle in his chest.

He wasn't usually like this to angel..

As he stood up from the seat, he felt the weight of the world pressing down on him, the playful bravado fading with every step. He walked to the mirror, the harsh light exposing the cracks in his carefully curated facade. His heart raced, pounding like a drum in the silence.

Staring at his reflection, he felt a tremor in his hands. The smirk, the bravado, the devilish charm—none of it felt real anymore. In that moment, the mask slipped, and he let out a shaky breath, tears welling up in his eyes.

Even the devil can cry, he thought bitterly, feeling the warmth trickle down his cheeks. He’d buried his heart at Angelwood, thinking he could forget that it ever existed. But the truth was, it was still there, dormant but never gone, lingering beneath layers of irony and cruelty. It throbbed painfully in the wake of your absence, a constant reminder of what he’d lost.

The irony twisted in his gut; he had reveled in his chaos, played the part of the heartless killer, but beneath it all, he was just a man. A man who let himself feel, and now, that feeling was tearing him apart. Each drop of sorrow felt like a nail in the coffin he’d built around his heart, and no amount of darkness could extinguish the light that had once burned so brightly for you.

He took a step back, the reflection in the glass warping under the weight of his emotions. The devil might have loved too deeply, too fiercely, and now he was left with nothing but echoes of laughter and moments that would haunt him like shadows.

Ronin wiped at his eyes, anger bubbling up to mask the pain. Get it together, he thought, but deep down, he knew the truth. He missed you—more than he’d ever let on, more than he’d ever wanted to admit. The heart he thought he buried was alive and well, and it ached like a fresh wound.

V- Batman

You stood with your hands in the soil, tending to a row of young saplings. The scent of damp earth filled the air, a familiar comfort you always found with V. But tonight, something felt different—colder.

He stood nearby, watching you in silence. His arms crossed, his sharp, unreadable gaze fixed on the plants you were nurturing so carefully.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and even, like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. “We need to talk.”

You glanced up, wiping your hands on a rag, sensing the weight behind his words. “V, what’s going on?”

There was a pause—one of those long, uncomfortable silences he often wielded like a weapon. His expression remained stone-cold, but his fingers tapped lightly against his forearm, betraying the tiniest flicker of hesitation.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said at last, “about us. About what I want. What I need. And… I shouldn’t have weaknesses. Not like this.”

The words hit like a sudden frost settling over the warmth of the greenhouse. You frowned, feeling something twist uncomfortably in your chest. “What are you talking about? Weakness?”

He exhaled slowly, as though every word had to be calculated. “Loving you is a liability. You make me…” He trailed off, narrowing his eyes as if admitting the truth to himself was almost offensive. “Vulnerable.”

You blinked, a knot tightening in your throat. “So what, you’re saying you care too much? That it’s a bad thing?”

He gave you that familiar, detached look—the one that always frustrated you because it made you feel like your words were being weighed and found lacking. “It is,” he said matter-of-factly. “If I care, I’ll hesitate. If I hesitate… I lose.”

“Lose?” You stepped forward, trying to make sense of the walls he was building. “V, this isn’t some tactical mission. This is us. You don’t have to fight me like I’m the enemy.”

He didn’t move away when you closed the space between you, but his posture stiffened—like he was bracing himself, fighting the urge to soften. His gaze flickered briefly to the plants behind you, and something about the way he looked at them made your heart ache. He had always admired your ability to nurture life. Maybe that was part of the problem.

“Don’t you get it?” he murmured, the faintest crack slipping into his otherwise steady voice. “You’re the kind of person who brings things to life. And I’m… I’m not built for that. I’ve spent my whole life trying to eliminate threats, avoid attachments. If I let you stay, I’ll start—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “I’ll start believing that something good can last. That I could keep it.”

“And that scares you.” Your voice was soft, but it wasn’t a question.

He gave a small, bitter smile—barely more than a twitch of his lips. “More than you know.”

You reached for him, but he took a step back, the movement as deliberate as the rest of him.

“This isn’t about you,” he said quietly, but with finality. “It’s about me. I need to be in control. Of myself. Of everything.”

“So what?” you asked, anger creeping into your voice. “You’re just going to walk away because loving me makes you feel human?”

He didn’t answer right away. For a moment, the silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. Then he gave a short, almost mechanical nod, as if he’d already accepted the conclusion long before this conversation started. “Yes.”

The word was sharp and precise, like a scalpel cutting away what remained of your relationship.

You stared at him, the anger dissolving into disbelief. “That’s it?”

His gaze softened, just for a moment—a fleeting crack in the armor he wore so tightly. “I wish it could be different. But this… this isn’t who I’m supposed to be.”

“V,” you whispered, hoping, praying for something—anything—that would prove he still felt what you knew he did.

He looked at you for a long, agonizing moment, as if memorizing your face, storing it away somewhere deep inside where even he wouldn’t be able to touch it again. Then, in the cold, measured tone that defined him, he said:

“Take care of the yourself.”

And just like that, he turned and left, his footsteps quiet and steady, as if the weight of the world didn’t press down on his shoulders with every step.

You stood there, rooted in place, surrounded by the life you had nurtured together. But the warmth that had once existed between you was gone, replaced by the cold absence of a man too afraid to let himself love.

After breakup

After the breakup, V seems completely unaffected to anyone who looks at him. He keeps his composure—his face neutral, his voice flat. But in reality, every moment feels heavier than the last, as if the air around him thickens with regret. He doesn’t say it aloud, but your absence clings to him like a bruise, slow to fade.

He throws himself into routines: feeding stray animals, taking care of his birdies

V starts taking longer and longer walks at night, finding solace in animals—creatures who don’t demand emotional explanations or try to decipher the complicated labyrinth of his thoughts. He prefers their company now; they don’t pry. But every time he comes across a familiar place where the two of you once spent time together, the ache sharpens in his chest. He curses himself for noticing. He curses you for lingering, even when you’re not there.

In his mind, the breakup was the logical choice. You deserved someone softer, someone better suited for a future with gardens and pets that didn’t come with the looming shadow of death. His cold detachment was supposed to make things easier for both of you—cleaner. But it didn’t. Not for him. No matter how much he tries to rationalize it, the feelings linger, gnawing at him like ivy curling through the cracks of his armor.

V was drawn to your nurturing side, but that also terrified him. You made him feel safe, and that safety was unsettling. What kind of monster finds comfort in someone so good? You balanced the chaos in him with quiet strength, but that only made his darkest impulses feel more dangerous in comparison. Loving you made him feel seen—and he hated that more than anything.

V drafts messages to you late at night, only to delete them before they’re ever sent. “How are the flowers? The white ones should bloom this week.” He knows you’re better off without him. Still, his thumb hovers over the send button sometimes, just long enough to remind him how easy it would be to drag you back into his world.

He convinces himself that he’s done the right thing. But when he sees you smiling with someone new—someone who fits the life you deserve—it’s like a knife twisting in his chest. His expression doesn’t change, but his hands clench so tightly his knuckles turn white. If he were any less disciplined, he might’ve killed them right there. He tells himself it’s jealousy, but deep down, he knows it’s grief.

The animals he cares for—strays, birds, the creatures that flock to him—pick up on his sadness. A stray cat curls up in his lap, sensing the heaviness in him. He brushes his fingers over its fur absentmindedly, realizing for the first time that animals understand heartbreak better than most people. It’s a strange kind of comfort, but not enough to fill the space you left behind.

On nights when the loneliness becomes unbearable, V sits in the garden under the moonlight, staring at the plants the two of you nurtured together. He tells himself it was inevitable, that he had to let you go. But sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, he wonders if it was all just fear. Fear that you’d unravel him completely. Fear that someone as good as you could never truly love someone like him.

V doesn’t believe in sentimental nonsense. But you were the closest thing he’d ever come to a home. He knows now that even the coldest creatures crave warmth—and he found it in you. But instead of basking in it, he let his fear drive you away. And now, all he can do is live with the knowledge that he traded his one chance at happiness for the hollow comfort of control.

He repeats it like a mantra—It’s better this way. But the words feel empty. As he tends to the plants alone, surrounded by the animals that will never ask the questions he can’t answer, the truth settles in: Losing you wasn’t just painful—it was the kind of mistake you can never undo.

Misaki- The baby

You can tell something is off the second Misaki steps through the window , a familiar grin plastered across their face but… it doesn’t reach her eyes. There’s a weight she’s trying to hide behind that goofy, energetic exterior, but it slips through the cracks—just enough for you to notice.

“Heyyyy! Guess who’s here!” she singsongs, throwing her arms up dramatically, like this is some routine. Like everything is fine.

But you know it isn’t. You can see it in the way their hands fidget with the cuffs of her sleeves, how their gaze darts around the room, never quite landing on you. She’s stalling.

"Misaki," you say gently. "What’s going on?"

She drops onto the couch, kicking off her shoes in that chaotic, carefree way of hers. But the moment she speaks, you hear the tension threading through her voice, coiled tight like a wire ready to snap.

"So," she says with a forced grin, "you ever, uh... just know when something's not working? Like, you’re throwing everything at it—your whole heart, even—and it’s still like... hmmm... maybe this isn’t it." She laughs, but it’s sharp, brittle. “Yeah, so… that’s kinda what I’ve been thinking."

Your heart sinks. “What are you saying?”

She makes finger guns, like this whole thing is a joke. Like it’s not ripping her apart inside. "Ding ding ding! Breakup, baby! You win!" Their voice is too loud, too bright, and it makes your chest hurt because this is Misaki, hiding behind humor like it’s armor.

"Misaki... stop joking. What’s really going on?"

She freezes, and for a second, you catch the flash of something raw in her eyes—panic, maybe. Fear. She rubs at the back of their neck, suddenly looking smaller than usual despite their big personality.

“I mean it,” she says, softer now. "I’ve been thinking... and I don’t think I can do this. I love you. I do. But I don’t think I know how to be with you." their voice cracks on the last word, and she tries to cover it with a shaky laugh.

"I thought maybe if I acted normal, if I kept being goofy, I could pretend it was fine. But it’s not fine, and I can’t keep faking it."

There’s a long silence between you. You search their face, looking for something to latch onto, some way to fix this. But she won’t meet your gaze—just stares at their hands, as if they might hold answers she can’t find.

You want to say something, anything, but before you can, she stands up abruptly, forcing a grin. "Hey, no hard feelings, okay? We had a good run! And honestly, who else would put up with me for this long? You're a saint." She laughs again, but this one sounds more like a sob.

"Misaki—"

"Don’t," she interrupts, holding up a hand. "If you say something sweet, I swear I'll lose it."

You can only watch as she grabs their stuff and heads toward the door, moving too quickly, like she’s afraid she’ll change their mind if she stays a second longer. She pauses with their hand on the doorknob, finally glancing back at you with a crooked, bittersweet smile.

"Take care of yourself, okay? And... eat something that’s not ramen for once, idiot." Her voice wavers, but she gives you one last grin—bright and broken, just like them—and then she’s gone.

Misaki keeps up their bubbly, chaotic energy around others. They crack jokes, flirt, and prank their friends even harder, desperate to keep things light. But the more they joke, the hollower it feels. It’s all performance, and they know it—hoping that if they pretend long enough, the ache in their chest will fade.

At night, when they're finally alone, the mask slips. They lie in bed, scrolling through old texts, hovering over the call button but never pressing it. They stare at photos of the two of you together until their eyes blur with tears. Without anyone to laugh with, their humor shatters, leaving them to drown in silence.

Some nights, they're furious—angry at themself for not making things work, for ruining something good. Other times, they direct the blame toward you in petty ways: If only they tried harder… But beneath it all, Misaki knows the truth—it wasn't anyone's fault. And that truth stings the most. It was theirs...

Misaki starts calling random friends or coworkers during missions—anyone who’ll listen, even if the conversation is meaningless. They just need a familiar voice to fill the silence, laughing too hard at jokes that aren’t even funny. It’s not you, but it’s the closest they can get.

They still cook elaborate meals, even though it’s only for themself. Sometimes, out of habit, they set two plates—only to realize halfway through and shove the extra one back into the cabinet with trembling hands.

The worst moments are when they catch themself about to say something only you would understand—a dumb inside joke, a shared quip. They pause mid-sentence, force an awkward laugh, and change the topic. But every time it happens, it feels like a tiny knife twisting deeper in their chest.

They dive headfirst into anything to keep busy—missions, side hustles, parties. They flirt harder, act sillier, laugh louder. But nothing sticks. The more they try to drown the feelings, the heavier the emptiness becomes.

Even on the brink of falling apart, Misaki will still be the one wiping a friend's tears and giving pep talks. They’ve always been the goofy, reliable one. Showing their hurt feels like admitting defeat, so they bottle it up, letting it fester inside.

When they finally stop moving—standing in the shower or waiting for water to boil—the thoughts creep in. They’ll remember a tiny, stupid detail about you—how you liked your eggs, or the way you hummed that one song—and it breaks them all over again.

They’ve convinced themself that you're better off without them. They’re probably happier now. This is for the best. They repeat it like a mantra, hoping that one day it will feel true. But it never does.

A tiny part of them still hopes you’ll reach out. Every notification makes their heart race, even though they know it’s foolish. And every time it’s not you, it feels like a punch to the gut.

They make light jokes about the breakup to friends, brushing it off like it was nothing. “Ha, relationships are overrated, right?” But if someone lingers too long on the topic, their laugh falters, and they change the subject as quickly as they can.

Misaki acts unbothered—they smile, wave, maybe even throw out a playful joke. But the moment they’re alone, they crumble, staring at their reflection in a window or a mirror and whispering, Why wasn’t I enough?

Misaki keeps telling themself they’ll bounce back—I’ve been through worse. I’ll survive this, too. But deep down, they know that some scars never truly heal. And this one? It’s going to stay with them for a long, long time.

Angel-Heartsick

Angel sits across from you, her usual radiant smile nowhere to be found. Instead, her lips are pressed into a tight line, and she’s nervously tapping her foot—a rare crack in her poised demeanor. You know something is coming, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you like a storm waiting to break.

She takes a deep breath, brushing a hand through her perfectly styled hair. "Okay, listen, this is… really hard for me, but I need to say it." Her voice wavers, not from uncertainty, but from the effort of keeping herself together.

"It’s not you. I swear it’s not. And, ugh, I hate how cliché that sounds," she huffs, forcing out a laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes. "I just… I’ve been thinking, and I feel like I’m dragging you through something you didn’t sign up for. I try to be this fun, easygoing person, but you’ve seen what’s underneath. The spirals. The breakdowns."

Her fingers fiddle with the edge of her sleeve, a nervous tic you rarely see. "I thought I could handle everything. Work, us, my brain… But I can’t. And it’s not fair to you." She pauses, her chest rising with another heavy breath. "You’ve been… amazing, honestly. But I don’t think I know how to be what you need, not when I’m still figuring out how to take care of myself."

Her eyes shimmer, but she fights back the tears, refusing to let them fall. "I thought maybe if I tried harder, if I just kept pushing, we could make it work. But now… now I think I’d only hurt you more in the end."

Her voice breaks slightly as she continues. "I care about you so much. Too much. And that’s why I have to let you go." The words hang in the air, sharp and final, like the snap of a closing door.

She reaches out, briefly touching your hand before pulling away like she can’t bear the contact. "You deserve someone who can be fully present, and I need to be alone for a while. To figure things out, for real this time."

A bitter, self-deprecating smile curls her lips. "Maybe one day, when I’m not such a mess, we can find each other again. But right now? I think we both deserve better than what I can give."

Angel puts on a brave face for her followers and fans, continuing to post her usual cheerful content, but inside, she feels like she’s crumbling. She hides her heartbreak behind edited videos and vibrant filters, desperately trying to convince everyone—and herself—that she’s okay.

When the cameras are off, she often finds herself lying in bed, scrolling through old pictures and messages from you. Late at night, when the world is quiet, the tears come. She stares at the ceiling, feeling the weight of her choices pressing down like a heavy blanket.

Even when surrounded by friends and fans, she feels a profound sense of loneliness. Their laughter and cheers fade into white noise, and all she can think about is how they don’t know the real her—the one who’s struggling, the one who misses you deeply.

Random moments trigger memories of you, whether it’s a song playing in the background or a dish you both loved. Each reminder feels like a fresh wound, slicing through her carefully constructed facade. She’ll smile on the outside, but inside, it feels like everything is unraveling.

Editing videos becomes a bittersweet task. Sometimes she’ll leave in bloopers or comments about you, only to cringe afterward and cut them out. It’s a constant battle between nostalgia and pain, and she often wonders if she’ll ever be able to look at those memories without hurting.

Whenever she starts to spiral into her dark thoughts, it feels like a tidal wave crashing over her. She worries that she’ll never feel “normal” again, and her thoughts race with anxiety, self-doubt, and regrets. On particularly hard days, she feels trapped in her own mind.

Angel throws herself into her work, often taking on extra projects and collaborations to keep her mind occupied. But deep down, she knows it’s a temporary fix; the happiness it brings doesn’t fill the void left by you.

She reaches out to friends more often, craving their presence but feeling guilty for leaning on them too much. Her internal monologue battles with the fear that she’s becoming a burden, and she hides her real feelings to avoid dragging anyone down with her.

“I’m Fine” - The phrase becomes a shield against probing questions, even though she’s anything but fine. When friends ask how she’s doing, she forces a smile and replies, “I’m fine!” but she can feel the cracks in her voice.

Her manic episodes return with a vengeance, and she feels like she’s on a rollercoaster of emotions—sometimes feeling hopeful, other times spiraling into despair. It’s exhausting, and she struggles to keep up with herself.

She finds herself typing out messages to you, only to delete them before hitting send. The urge to reach out is strong, but the fear of rejection and the pain of facing reality keeps her from doing so.

Her dreams are filled with memories of you—happy moments twisted into something bittersweet. She wakes up in the middle of the night, heart racing, clutching her pillow and wishing it were you.

Despite everything, there’s a part of her that clings to the hope that things might change. She often daydreams about a future where she’s healed, where you could be together again, but that hope feels more like a curse than a blessing.

Angel tries to channel her emotions into creative outlets, like painting or journaling. It’s cathartic, but she often finds herself stuck, unable to translate the whirlwind of feelings into words or images.

#killer chat ronin #ronin killer chat #killer chat vn #killer chat v #killerchat #ronin beaufort x reader #ronin beaufort #ronin x reader #v x reader #v killer chat #misaki x reader #angel x reader #killer chat misaki #killer chat misaki x reader #killer chat v x reader #killer chat angel x reader

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elysiaheaven · 4 days ago

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KC cast with a streamer reader!- who's a serial killer like them!

Reader is

V finds your dark humor and unapologetic nature intriguing and hates it (Because it doesn't remind him of Ronin, trust). Tho Your shared interest in justice through violence (allows for deep conversations that often blur the line between morality and chaos.

He feels a strong urge to protect you, treating you like a delicate flower amid a storm. He appreciates your fierceness when talking abt your victims or discussing ethics in a humorous, detached manner.

V’s flirting is awkward yet sincere (When he starts to like you he tries). He struggles to express his feelings, often delivering compliments in the same cold manner he uses to discuss your latest "projects."

V loves animals, so he might show off a new pet or plant during your streams, inviting you to do the same. You both share a passion for nurturing life while secretly discussing death.

He grapples with the morality of your actions, often reflecting on whether your “mission” serves a greater good or merely satisfies your own darker desires. His love for you adds complexity to his views.

Misaki

Misaki loves your streams, your chaotic escapades, often turning your dark activities into comedic gold. Your goofy nature matches perfectly, creating entertaining and unpredictable streams.

Your playful, snarky interactions draw in viewers, with you teasing Misaki about their darker tendencies while they counter with silly remarks about “killing the competition.”

Misaki is deeply supportive, always cheering you on during streams. They value your ability to relate to their chaotic lifestyle, making your bond feel genuine and lively.

You might host cooking streams where you whip up meals with an edge—using “blood” as a cooking ingredient (like red food dye) while laughing about your “killing skills.”

Despite her silly demeanor, Misaki is aware of the emotional turmoil that comes with your lifestyle. She is there for you during low moments, offering light-hearted jokes to ease the heaviness.

Angel

Angel appreciates your sweet and dark side, blending her optimistic pessimism with your chaotic nature. Your streams could explore dark themes while maintaining an upbeat vibe that attracts viewers.

In moments of doubt, Angel is there to uplift you, reminding you of the beauty in your chaos and the importance of embracing who you are, even as a killer.

You might host streams that glamorize your lifestyle, wearing stunning outfits while discussing your “projects.” Angel encourages you to flaunt your darkness and embrace your identity.

Given her own struggles with manic episodes, Angel is sensitive to your needs. You both have open discussions about mental health, ensuring you both feel supported.

Together, you might create art or music inspired by your experiences, sharing your twisted love with the world through unique and creative expressions.

You challenge each other’s perspectives, often leading to deep discussions about morality, making your relationship both fun and thought-provoking.

Ronin

Ronin revels in your darkness, viewing your relationship as a canvas for corruption. He encourages you to embrace your murderous tendencies and even pushes you further into chaos.

Your streams are filled with dark humor and playful banter, where Ronin might take on a dominant role, teasing you and challenging you to outdo him in “kills.”

Beneath his playful exterior, Ronin is conflicted. He finds himself falling for you, struggling with his feelings as he admires your darkness but also fears losing himself in your chaotic bond.

You brainstorm ideas for streams that feature elaborate setups for your “projects,” each one more twisted than the last, often resulting in a grotesque yet artistic performance.

Ronin’s romantic gestures are laced with darkness. He might present you with a bouquet of “bloody” flowers or a heart-shaped trinket that’s a little too realistic.

You share secrets about your “work” during quiet moments, forging a deeper connection. Ronin is captivated by your innocence amidst your gruesome lifestyle, often leaving him longing for a deeper understanding.

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elysiaheaven · 19 days ago

Note

Hhhii this is a request for angst, Ronin & Far beyond help user (interpret as you will)

Words:

Genre: Yandere

Summary: The so-called devil realized what he did.

( Reader is a g.n!)

TW: Obsessive behaviour, , Distorted Love, Dark Humor, Depictions of despair, hopelessness, and emotional trauma., codependent relationships, Suicidal Ideation

"Don’t look at me like that."

His voice is sharp—brutal—but the tremor in it, the way his hands clench into fists, tells a different story. He stands over you, taller than life but somehow crumbling. Plum-colored hair falls messily over his eyes, his lips curled into a mocking smile, the kind he knows you hate.

You sit there on the grimy floor, knees tucked to your chest, watching him like you always do: love-drunk, ruined, and so stupidly loyal it makes his chest ache. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. And worse, you were meant to be Ther...

Not the whole of them—the good parts are gone, long obliterated by whatever this is. There’s only the rotten pieces now, jagged remnants wrapped in desperate love. That kind of love… the kind that consumes. It’s wrong. It makes him want to run.

He shifts his weight and accidentally over the coffee cup on the floor. It clatters, liquid spilling out like guts. He doesn’t flinch, even as the brown stain spreads to where you sit, inches away from soaking into your clothes.

Good. Let it drown you. Let it stain everything.

SO, you want to kill him now right!!!

"You're so fucking predictable." His voice drips with venom, as if each word is a scalpel slicing through your chest. He wants you to feel this, to hate him. He wants to become the monster you have no choice but to destroy. "What, still gonna sit there? Still gonna look at me like I’m some kind of savior? Jesus Christ, how thick are you?"

Your lip trembles, and he nearly falters. Nearly. But Ronin’s never been one to falter, especially not now, when the stakes are so damn high. He has to make you let go—make you hate him, make you kill him if that’s what it takes.

Because he knows you won’t leave. You’re too far gone, too hopelessly tangled in the wreckage of him to pull yourself free. And he can’t carry that weight—not after Ther. Not again.

But you? You still stare up at him with those wide, ruined eyes, so full of love it makes him sick. How dare you love him like that? He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t even want it. And yet, here you are—offering every broken piece of yourself like a gift, like it’ll save either of you. It won’t.

"You love me, huh?" His voice drops, dangerously low, as he crouches in front of you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath. "You love me so much it hurts, right? Is that it?" He smiles, cold and sharp. "You love me so much you’d die for me."

You nod—pathetically, desperately—like a marionette tangled in your own strings. It’s all you know how to do: love him, despite the way it breaks you.

"Then fucking kill me," he snarls, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to meet his gaze. “If you love me so much, then do it.”

His fingers dig into your skin, but his eyes—his damn eyes—are the worst part. Because they’re not cruel. They’re not full of hate. No, what’s staring back at you is something far more dangerous: a man trying to let go of you before it destroys you both.

But you won’t. You can’t.

"I can’t—" you whisper, voice trembling as tears spill down your cheeks.

He clicks his tongue, a sneer curling across his lips, masking the frustration tearing him apart inside. Why won’t you fucking hate him? He needs you to hate him, to push him away. If you don’t, he’ll ruin you.

"You’re pathetic," he spits, standing up again. "You’re not Ther." The words taste like poison. "And you never will be."

Your heart shatters at that, and he knows it. He knows exactly how to break you, and he’s doing it—because it’s the only way to save you from himself.

You choke on a sob, but still—still—you reach for him. You’re so far gone that not even this is enough.

"You can hurt me," you whisper. "I don’t care. I’ll still love you."

No.

No, no, no. It’s not supposed to go like this. You’re supposed to scream at him, curse him, kill him. But instead, you look at him like he’s worth saving, and it makes something inside him snap.

"You fucking idiot," he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. His voice cracks—not from anger, but from something far worse. Regret.

"Stop it." His voice is weaker now, almost pleading. "Stop loving me." He’s doing this for you—can’t you see that? He’s trying to set you free, to give you a reason to walk away.

But you won’t.

And that’s the tragedy.

With a sigh that feels more like a surrender, Ronin turns away from you, shoulders slumped. He’s lost this battle. He can’t save you from himself—and worse, he can’t save himself from you.

"If you won’t kill me," he murmurs, voice empty now, "then don’t complain when I drag you to hell with me."

Because that’s all that’s left for the two of you, isn’t it? You love him too much to leave, and he’s too broken to let you go.

So he’ll do what he does best—corrupt, destroy, and ruin.

And you?

You’ll love him for it.

You cry out, voice breaking as you plead, "Don’t leave me!" The words tumble from your lips, raw and desperate, wrapping around him like chains. Hopelessness seeps into every fiber of your being, a thick fog clouding your mind. You’re shattered, yes, but you’re not ready to let go—not of him, not of this twisted, dark love that binds you together.

"I don’t care, Ronin! I won’t kill you!" The insistence in your voice surprises even you. But it’s true. You won’t. You can’t.

You shake your head violently, wiping the tears from your cheeks, determined not to let him see how much he affects you. You won’t give him that satisfaction. “You think I want to hate you? You think that’s going to make this any easier?”

He laughs, a hollow sound that echoes in the cramped room. “You don’t get it, do you?” The disdain in his tone feels like a punch to the gut, but it doesn’t stop you.

“I’m already lost, Ronin! I’m not going to follow you into hell. I’m already there.” The truth spills from you like blood from a wound—too much, too fast, too painful. But you can’t hold it back anymore.

Ronin watches you, a strange mixture of anger and something softer simmering beneath the surface. He sees you broken, begging for a shred of hope in this dark place you both inhabit. It’s disgusting to him—pathetic. And yet, somehow, he can’t tear his eyes away.

"You think it’s a game?" His voice lowers, dripping with sarcasm. “You think I enjoy this? Watching you break and still cling to me?” He takes a step closer, and the heat radiating from him feels like a fire, burning through the haze of despair.

But you don’t flinch. You refuse to back down. "No, I think you’re scared." The words hang between you, heavy and suffocating. “Scared of what you are. Scared of what I am without you.”

The moment hangs, electric and thick. He glances away, and you see the brief flicker of vulnerability in his eyes before he masks it with that trademark devil-may-care smirk. That’s when it hits you—the first time you saw him.

Back then, he was all shadows and chaos, and you were so… pure. Funny, flirtatious, chaotic in the best ways. You’d made him laugh, dragged him into your whirlwind of life, reminding him of what it felt like to be alive. And for a fleeting moment, he thought maybe—just maybe—Ther had come back.

But now he knows, standing here in the dim light with you at his feet, that you’re not Ther. You’re not supposed to be. Ther was a distant memory, a flicker of something beautiful and untouchable. And what remains now is a twisted reflection, an echo of the past, warped and distorted.

“You were like a light,” he mutters, voice thick with something unnameable. “Bright and reckless, and I…” He stops, staring at you as if you’re some kind of puzzle he can’t solve. “I thought you were them.”

His honesty cuts through the tension, revealing the jagged edges of his heart. He knows he can’t keep pretending anymore—he can’t keep dragging you down this path with him. “But that’s not you. You’re not them. You never were.”

“Then who am I?” you whisper, the anguish in your voice palpable. You reach for him again, fingers brushing against his arm, desperate to anchor him to this moment, to you. “What do you want me to be, Ronin? I just want you! I don’t care if I’m broken! I don’t care if I’m not enough!”

He recoils slightly, the impact of your words hitting him like a blow. “You don’t get it. I’m the devil now, and I won’t let you follow me to hell.” But even as he says it, he can feel the truth slipping through his fingers. You’re right there—too close, too beautiful in your brokenness.

“You think I want to let you go?” His voice is a hiss, low and dangerous. “You think I want to lose you like I lost her?” He shakes his head, rage boiling beneath the surface. “You’re the one who’s delusional!”

But the moment you see that flicker of pain in his eyes, your heart shatters all over again. You don’t want to hate him. You want him to see the good in you, the potential. You want to save him.

“I’m not delusional! I’m hopeless!” The words pour from you in a flood. “I’m hopelessly in love with you, Ronin! Even if it means following you into hell, I’ll do it!”

His expression shifts, a mixture of fury and something akin to grief. “You think I want that for you? I want you to hate me! I want you to find your way out of this mess!”

But you refuse. You refuse to hate him. You refuse to let go of the love that has become your lifeline.

“Then stop pushing me away! Stop pretending you’re the devil!” You grab his shirt, pulling him closer until he’s almost on his knees before you, and the distance between you evaporates. “You’re not the devil, Ronin. You’re just… lost. Just like me.”

His breath hitches, and for a split second, you see the man he used to be—the man who laughed, the man who cared, the man who could’ve loved you freely. But that man is buried under layers of self-loathing and pain, and he’s terrified of letting you see the truth.

“If I let you in,” he murmurs, eyes narrowing, “I’ll ruin you. "

BUT!!!

“I won’t leave you,” he sneered, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He knew the posturing was ridiculous—utterly absurd, really—but what was the point of doing anything else? Why not lean into it? He wanted to get a rise out of you, to make you feel every jagged edge of his dark humor. After all, this was the role he had carved out for himself.

“Darlin’,” he continued, his voice dripping with mockery, “I have to act this way. What else would you expect from the devil?” He leaned in closer, eyes gleaming with mischief, teasing the precipice of madness that lay between you.

“I’ll kill you, and I’ll kill myself. Together, we’ll become the beautiful tragedy we were always meant to be!” The laughter that escaped him was hollow, echoing in the empty space around you. How twisted, how perfectly poetic.

He could see it now, the two of you wrapped in darkness, a perfect duet of chaos and despair. It thrilled him. You were broken in all the right ways, and he loved you for it.

But beneath that exhilaration, something darker lurked—fear. Fear that he would be left alone in this twisted game he played. Fear that you would find a way out and leave him to rot in his own choices.

“You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he whispered, the playful tone melting into something more sincere, more desperate. “You need me. We need each other.”

He took a step back, surveying you, the corrupted flower blooming in the shadows. He had nurtured this monstrosity, and now it had blossomed into something beautiful and grotesque.

“I’ll drag you down with me, whether you want it or not. Because that’s what love is, isn’t it? Suffering together?” His laughter broke through the tension, dark and mocking. “It’s tragic and beautiful, like a twisted fairy tale where the prince turns into a monster and the princess… well, she gets devoured too.”

He couldn’t help but revel in the madness of it all. You were his creation, his reflection in a shattered mirror. The darkness had intertwined your souls, binding you together in a way that made him feel alive, despite everything.

“Every path I take will lead to suffering. That’s the responsibility I have now,” he mused, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall, watching you with a predatory gaze. “It’s the burden of being the devil, after all. But hey, at least we’ll have some fun along the way!”

What a mess we are, he thought, grinning wider. “So, are you ready to dance with the devil, darling? Or are we going to keep pretending this isn’t what we both want?”

He never would’ve imagined that pure, kind you could turn into such a monster. It was as if a cute little dog had suddenly morphed into a beast, hunting for blood. That twisted excitement bubbled within him, the kind you feel when witnessing a bud of a flower unfurl into a vibrant blossom.

Part of him—the heart that still existed somewhere deep inside—sank at the thought. How sad… how broken. Maybe Ther really is gone; no one can be Ther anymore.

The corruption he offered had twisted into something worse than he ever anticipated.

It seemed he had become the meaning of your existence.

So this is it, he thought. He loves you, despite everything. Congrats.

Guess he’ll have to take responsibility, then. Because he’s the one to blame.

He made you into this demon.

He turned you into a crushed soul, someone with no one else to turn to… not even yourself.

No matter what path it takes, he will continue to make you suffer.

Whether he wants you or not.

Because it’s all come to your pretty little head.

Even if this wasn’t what he intended… what was the side effect?!

To you, he was the only one on this planet who could love you.

And that realization twisted his insides. It made you rely on him, trust him, and that was the only thing that could keep you sane. You wanted to make him feel happy, and he needed you to prove you weren’t boring. Even now, you were trying.

He understood that if he turned his back on you, your existence would lose all meaning.

He made you. He rebuilt you.

The way you are now—the new you was the gift he had given you.

But even he didn’t know if this was truly what he wanted to do.

Yet he knew. Even the devil wouldn’t abandon someone like you.

Let the two broken people be broken together. If the suffering became too much…

He would kill you.

And deep down, he knows you would thank him for it.

How pathetic.

He thought he could corrupt you, thought he could twist you into something dark and beautiful. But instead, he created a monster that reflected all his failures and fears. The weight of that responsibility crushed him, and the irony of it all burned in his chest like acid.

What have I done?

#killer chat ronin x reader #killer chat ronin #ronin beaufort x reader #ronin beaufort #ronin x reader #killer chat x reader #killerchat #killer chat vn #killer chat v

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elysiaheaven · 21 days ago

Text

"Pure Insatiablity"-[𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓-3] 𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍 𝐗 𝐆.𝐍 (Yandere) 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 (𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐓)

Words:8000

Genre: Yandere/Fluff

Summary: Playin truth or dare with the devil! You have a small motive too Mission : Invite him to a sleepover!

( Reader is a g.n!)-(If you see somewhere in the lines mentioned as she/girl pls tell me! I just forgot to edit sometimes

TW: Obsessive behaviour, Lovesick, Blood, Violence, Crazy! Your daily dose of cringe! (He's crazy ><), (Reader is obsessive in love with him) Mentions of disturbing poetic lines?

The video call connected, and Ronin's face filled the screen, his smirk as mischievous as ever. The lighting cast playful shadows on his features, emphasizing the sharp lines of his jaw and the dark glint in his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile back, the excitement bubbling within you.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Look who picked up so soon! Aren’t you just the cutest little thing?"

His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it that made your heart race.

You: "I was waiting for you to call! Besides, you know I can’t resist your devilish charm."

Goreboy (Ronin): "Devilish? Me? Nah, I’m just a sweet little Devil"

He rolled his eyes, a grin stretching across his lips.

You: "Right. An DEVIL with a crowbar."

Goreboy (Ronin): "Well, it’s time for the game, my little sweet pea. Let’s get this started."

His tone shifted, turning serious, but it was laced with an undercurrent of excitement.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Here’s how it works: we each pick a truth or a dare. Since you were such a good little sweet pea and listened to me earlier, you get to choose for me first."

You thought for a moment, the thrill of the game igniting your imagination.

You: "Okay, I choose truth for you."

Ronin raised an eyebrow, his expression amused.

Goreboy (Ronin): "How cute! You gave me the easier option to answer. But just you wait, I’m going to love tormenting you with my dare later."

You: "Alright, my turn! Truth. What kind of pajamas do you like?"

You watched as his eyebrows raised slightly, clearly amused by your question.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Really? That’s what you wanna know?"

You shrugged with a grin, waiting for his response.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Well, if you must know, I’m definitely an oversized kind of guy. Baggy shirt and shorts, something easy to throw on. Nothing too fancy, just like me."

You: "Fine, I’ll ask again later. Now it’s your turn. What do you want me to do?"

Ronin’s eyes gleamed with delight as he contemplated your fate.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Let’s see… I dare you to send me a voice note where you say my name in the most seductive tone you can manage."

You blinked in surprise, the heat rushing to your cheeks.

You: "Seriously? That’s your dare?"

Goreboy (Ronin): "Yep! And I expect nothing but the best from you, darling. Show me what you got."

You chuckled nervously, the challenge sending a thrill through you.

You: "Okay, but you better not laugh!"

Goreboy (Ronin): "No promises, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes, but the excitement bubbled up again as you picked up your phone to record the message.

You: "Here goes nothing."

You took a breath, letting your voice drop low and sultry.

You: "Ronin… you know I can’t resist you…"

You stopped yourself, laughter bubbling up as you hit send.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Oh my god, that was perfect!"

He leaned forward, clearly entertained, but there was something else in his gaze—something deeper that made your heart flutter.

You: "Shut up! You loved it."

His grin widened, eyes glinting with amusement, knowing full well how his casual answer still got to you.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Now, you’ve had your fun, but I’m bored of choosing for you. What do you want to pick this time?"

You hesitated for a moment before choosing.

You: "Truth."

His smirk deepened, eyes narrowing in that devilish way of his.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Alright then, let’s see... What do you think of pets?"

You paused, not expecting such a simple question. You couldn’t help but smile, deciding to make yourself sound cute.

You: "I think they’re adorable! I don’t mind any kind of pets, honestly. I’d probably spoil them rotten."

You made sure to flash your most innocent smile, tilting your head slightly as you tried to sweeten your words, hoping he’d find it endearing. But of course, Ronin saw right through you.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Oh please, don’t even try it, darlin'. I can see right through that cute act."

You couldn’t help but laugh, caught in the moment.

You: "Teehee! You caught me."

He shook his head, grinning like the devil he was.

You grinned as you chose truth for him again, leaning closer to the screen as if to close the gap between you two. Ronin rolled his eyes, a smirk pulling at his lips.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Truth again? Ugh, how boring. But I guess I can humor you. What’s the question?"

You: "It’s a surprise this time!"

He raised a brow, looking vaguely intrigued.

You: "Okay, what's your favorite show or movie?"

For a split second, his expression shifted—almost like he was getting ready to mess with you—before he gave a genuine answer.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Horror. Anything that’s bloody, slasher films especially. But what really gets me are those Japanese grotesque body horror flicks. You know, the ero-guro stuff, Junji Ito’s works. The more disturbing, the better."

Your eyes widened at his response. You didn’t expect anything less, but it was still unnerving hearing him list his favorites so casually.

You: "How can you watch all that without getting scared? It sounds terrifying!"

His smirk deepened, leaning in closer on his end as if to mock your worry.

Goreboy (Ronin): "That’s my specialty, darlin'. Horror doesn't scare me, it thrills me."

There was a pause, his eyes glinting with that familiar devilish glint as he added,

Goreboy (Ronin): "But hey, maybe if we watched one together... I’d let you hold my hand if you got too scared."

He grinned, knowing full well the effect his words had on you, and you couldn’t help but laugh nervously. He was teasing, but the way he said it made your heart race.

You: "Oh, so I get special treatment now, huh? Only if I get scared?"

He shrugged, keeping his casual, almost mocking tone.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Maybe. But let’s be real—you're definitely gonna get scared. And I might let you cling to me, just for the fun of it."

Ronin’s mischievous grin only widened as he leaned back, arms crossed, and prepared for his dare.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Alright, sweetheart, I’m gonna keep it interesting this time. I’m gonna show you something you really gotta see."

Your heart raced. You had already accepted anything he threw at you.

You: "I accept anything, Ronin! Let’s go!"

With a quick flick, he turned off the camera, and a few moments later, he switched it back on, revealing not just himself, but his two little pets.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Meet my two companions: this here’s Pepperoni!"

He held up a sleek snake, its scales glistening under the light, coiling effortlessly around his arm. The sight was both fascinating and unsettling, but you couldn’t help but exclaim.

You: "Oh my god, it’s so cute!"

Ronin's expression twisted slightly, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned in closer, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Don’t say it like that, darlin'. It might just eat you."

You laughed nervously, your mind racing with the sheer absurdity of the idea.

You: "Cheesy! Won’t you be there to save me?"

His tone turned serious, if only for a moment, as he replied,

Goreboy (Ronin): "It could eat you, but I’d still love you."

Your heart did a little flip, the warmth spreading through you like a fever. So cute! So cute! Your thoughts spiraled, tinged with a dark excitement. If he loved you even when you were devoured by his pets, what would it feel like to be so utterly consumed by him? You felt a momentary pang of panic—what if this love was a twisted, grotesque thing?

But before you could dwell on that too long, Ronin snapped you back to reality, his voice playful.

Goreboy (Ronin): "You still with me on this planet, or have you floated off to the great beyond?"

He turned the camera slightly, showcasing his rat next, a tiny creature with a glossy black coat. You gasped again, utterly charmed.

You: "It’s so cute! I can’t wait to spend time with them!"

Ronin settled back down, now holding the rat gently, his demeanor softening as he gazed at you with an unexpected fondness.

Goreboy (Ronin): "I’m glad you liked them. They’re a handful, but I think they’ve got a good sense of humor."

He looked at you, the corners of his mouth twitching upward, and for a moment, you felt like the world outside faded away. Just you and Ronin, and those two little creatures.

You couldn’t help but smile, your gaze shifting from the pets back to him.

You: "You’re all smiley! What’s going on, huh?"

Goreboy (Ronin): "Just happy you accepted them, that’s all. Nothing more."

You felt a surge of warmth at his words, but it wasn’t just about the pets. It was about the way he looked at you—the way he softened, just a fraction, beneath that devilish exterior. It was intoxicating, pulling you deeper into the abyss of your feelings for him.

In the back of your mind, thoughts of the girls at the ice cream shop resurfaced. Their eyes on him, giggling and whispering, made your blood boil. How dare they? You wanted to make them regret ever looking his way.

You tried to shake off the thought, focusing instead on Ronin and his pets, but the unsettling notions clung to you. What if... what if he was only with you because he saw Ther in you? What if he’d never truly see you?

A sickening thrill twisted in your gut. What if you killed? What if, in a moment of insanity, you proved your love in a way that was irrevocable? Maybe that would make him see you for who you really were—your own person, apart from the specter of his past love. Maybe if you killed, he’d realize you weren’t Ther; you were your own entity, your own darkness that fit so perfectly with his.

You just wanted him! You didn’t care if he saw Ther in you—

But those thoughts, as intoxicating as they were, slipped away when you looked back at him, the light of your screen illuminating the sharp angles of his face. You smiled at him, your heart racing with a mixture of love and twisted desire.

You: "Your pets are adorable! Could you show them to me one day?"

Ronin raised an eyebrow, and you could see the glimmer of something affectionate in his gaze, something that made your heart pound even harder.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Yeah, one day, when I invite you over to my place."

He was smiling, and it felt genuine—softening beneath all the layers he’d put up.

You were silent for a moment, staring at him, lost in your lovesick reverie, ignoring the shadows lurking at the edge of your mind. You didn’t care about anything else, not the girls, not the whispers of the past. You just wanted him—you just wanted Ronin.

He caught you gazing at him, and the smirk returned, a playful challenge in his eyes.

Goreboy (Ronin): "What’s up? You look like you’ve got something sinister planned."

You shook your head, a soft smile playing on your lips, as you leaned closer to the screen.

You: "Just thinking how cute you are with your little pets."

Ronin laughed, the sound warm, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace. You let the love, twisted and grotesque as it was, consume you entirely. You knew you were losing yourself to him—completely and utterly—and you were so okay with it.

You leaned in, mischievous and grinning, knowing exactly what you were doing as you threw the dare at him.

You: "Okay, Ronin, here’s your dare: bastardize Shakespeare with love quotes. I’m talking full-on cringe!"

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Really, darlin'? You want me to suffer like that? I thought you liked me."

You giggled, feeling the warmth bubble up in your chest.

You: "It’s a joke! C’mon, you bullied me a little, now it’s your turn to suffer!"

Ronin let out a dramatic sigh, as if this was the worst fate he could endure, though you knew better. His post-ironic flare was in full swing. He knew it was ridiculous, and that only made him lean into it harder.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Fine, sweetheart. If you want me to butcher ol’ Shakespeare in front of everyone, who am I to say no?"

With that, he jumped back into the server and fired off a series of over-the-top, melodramatic, and utterly ridiculous Shakespearean love quotes with his own devilish spin. You could almost hear the exaggerated, emo cadence in his voice as he typed.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Oh, fair darling, dost thou not know? My heart, an abyss of blackened stars, doth weep for thy very soul—forever entangled in this wretched world! Thy beauty doth stab me like a dagger through the aorta!"

The reaction in the server was immediate.

Misaki: "HELPPPP I CANT BREATHE!"

V: "..." (silence, because you could feel the heavy judgment in those dots)

Angel: Ronin, what the fuck..?

Luca: "What the fuck, dude, I’m DYING! This is too much!"

Feli: "Please, please, Shakespeare is already dead. Don’t kill him again!"

V couldn’t hold back anymore. You watched his little typing bubble pop up on screen before his message came through, and it was loaded with that same righteous judgment he always had.

V: "Ronin, how can you show your face after doing... all of that?"

Before you could even react, Ronin—ever the post-ironic menace—jumped back into character. His next reply was already dripping with sarcasm, delivered in the same Shakespearean tone that had everyone groaning.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Ah, my fair V! Dost thou not know? ‘Twas not I, but my beloved muse who did order me! It was they who bade me to bastardize the very works of the Bard himself, to appease her devilish whims! Shall I not, as their humble servant, obey the very commands she doth whisper into mine ear?"

The server erupted again. You could practically hear V sighing through his messages.

V: "Stop. Just stop."

Ronin didn’t miss a beat. He turned his sarcastic fire onto the others.

Goreboy (Ronin): "And thou, fair Misaki! Art thou not paid for thy deadly craft, an assassin who taketh rent and money for her work? Pray tell, where is the justice in such deeds, yet thou judges me for simply... entertaining!"

Misaki couldn’t resist responding, her typing bubble hovering for a moment before she gave in.

Misaki: "HELP! MAKE IT STOP! You did NOT just turn this on me for rent!"

Ronin moved on to Angel next, with no signs of letting up.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Angel, sweet Angel! Dost thou not ask for likes and subscriptions in thine endeavors? For thy YouTube craft, thou dost beckon the masses to thy side! Art we all not bound by the strings of our desires?!"

Angel: (Crying emoji) "WHY are you doing this to Shakespeare?! Please!"

Ronin wasn’t finished. His chaos needed one last flourish. He turned his playful wrath toward Luca and Feli, who were already typing furiously.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Luca and Feli, the lovebirds! Thou dost laugh now, but is thy romance not as frail as the love between Romeo and Juliet? Shall I not craft for thee a tragedy of thine own if thou doth not respect my art!"

Luca: "WHAT THE HELL, DUDE. I’M LAUGHING TOO HARD, STOP!"

Feli: "You’re ruining everything with this. My love for Shakespeare is DEAD. DEAD!"

The server was a wreck. Everyone was laughing, typing furiously, and you couldn’t stop the grin that had crept up on your face. Ronin had taken what should have been a cringe-inducing moment and turned it into a full-blown Shakespearean parody, dragging everyone into the mess.

You: "Okay, okay, enough already! I think you’ve officially broken everyone."

Goreboy (Ronin): "If you think that was bad, wait till I bring you my version of 'Romeo and Juliet'. I’ll rewrite the whole thing just for us. Deadly, romantic, and full of blood. Think you can handle it?"

Your heart skipped a beat as he teased, his words dripping with that familiar mix of humor and danger.

You: "Oh, I can handle it."

But Ronin, of course, wasn’t done yet. He had one last thing to say, typing with all the drama of a Shakespearean actor in his final act.

Goreboy (Ronin): "I shall cease, sweet darling, but know this: I have given thee what thou hast requested, and in doing so, I have delivered the most glorious of mockeries! And thus, I depart this cursed stage... for now."

He logged off dramatically, as if exiting stage left, leaving the server in shambles behind him.

V: "I... I’m speechless."

Angel: "That was... too much."

You couldn’t handle it. Ronin had disappeared after his dramatic exit, leaving the server in chaos, and worse yet, he wasn't answering your DMs. You needed his attention now.

You: "Ronin, where are you?!" "Come onnnn, I need you! Don’t leave me hanging after that mess!"

But still, no response. Your impatience was starting to boil over, and then, an idea hit you—Shakespeare. If he wasn’t going to come back, maybe you’d pull him out by mocking the one thing he loved to ruin. You’d turn the tables.

So you did it, typing out your own terrible bastardization of Shakespeare in his DMs.

You: "Oh Ronin, dearest heart of mine! Why hast thou forsaken me, thy sweet and loyal muse? Dost thou leave me alone in this realm, only to writhe in agony at thy absence?!"

Still, no answer. You groaned, fingers flying over the keys as you continued.

You: "Nay, but I shall not be silent! If thou dost not return, I shall wreak havoc upon the Bard’s very legacy! I shall twist his words ‘til they are but shadows of their former glory, all for thee, my cruel tormentor!"

You smirked, half-expecting him to swoop in any second, but there was still... nothing. Frustrated, you decided to lean in harder.

You: "Forsooth, if thou dost not return, I shall curse the heavens themselves, and turn mine quill upon the stars, writing naught but tragedy in thy absence! Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Nay! I compare thee to a ghost, haunting my thoughts, yet unseen! COME BACK OR I SWEAR IT SHALL BE CARNAGE!"

And then, as if on cue, a familiar notification popped up. Ronin was online.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Christ, you’ve lost it, haven’t you?"

You couldn’t help the smug satisfaction that welled up inside you as you saw his message. He was back.

You: "I had to do something. You left me with no choice!"

Goreboy (Ronin): "Left you with no choice? So you butchered the Bard in my honor? Well, darling, I’m touched."

You could almost hear the sarcasm dripping from his words, and yet, there was that familiar edge, the one that always made your heart race. He continued before you could respond.

Goreboy (Ronin): "You’re lucky I’m feeling generous. I could leave you stewing in your own disaster for hours. But... I suppose I’ll indulge you. After all, you did try so hard to get my attention."

You: "It worked, didn’t it?"

There was a pause before his next message, as though he was weighing his words, knowing exactly how to tease you without giving too much away.

Goreboy (Ronin): "So, darling, what’s it going to be? Now that I’m back, are we done pretending to be Shakespearean disasters, or do you have something else up your sleeve?"

You rolled your eyes, typing fast.

You: "Please, you started this mess with your over-the-top performance. I was just following your brilliant example."

His reply came quickly this time, and you could practically feel his smirk through the screen.

Goreboy (Ronin): "Of course you were. After all, you always follow me, don’t you? Even when you’re pretending to lead."

There it was, the familiar back-and-forth that left you dizzy. Ronin, the devil in disguise, always making you chase after him, always pulling you in just to let you get close enough to feel the heat before he slipped away again.

You: "And yet, you always come back to me. Funny how that works."

Another pause, and then—

Goreboy (Ronin): "Maybe I just like to keep you on your toes. Keeps things interesting, don’t you think?"

You couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered, and once again, that lovesick feeling crept back in. But there was an edge to it now—something darker, something possessive, something hungry.

He had you wrapped around his finger, and you didn’t care.

You hesitated before calling Ronin, your fingers hovering over the screen. You knew he was going to mess with you, but you couldn’t help it. You needed to hear his voice, that teasing tone that always left you feeling a mix of frustrated and lovesick. The phone rang twice before he answered, his face filling the screen with that smug grin of his.

"Well, well, how the tables have turned," Ronin drawled. "It used to be me calling you, but now you’re the one so eager, huh?"

You quickly shot back, "You picked up fast too, don’t act like you weren’t waiting for this." You smirked, though your heart was racing.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing in mock offense. "Is that so? Should I feed you to the fish for that? Or better yet..." His grin widened, voice dropping lower, "Apologize in Shakespearean or I’ll end this call right now. No looking, no talking, nothing. Your choice."

You panicked, knowing full well he’d do it if you didn’t comply. A sigh escaped you, and with a roll of your eyes, you caved. "Fine! Thou art a most cruel tormentor, and I—thy humble fool—dost beg for forgiveness, lest thou cast me away into oblivion!"

Ronin’s laughter filled your ears, deep and uncontrollable. "That’s a good one! Christ, I should record this!" He laughed so hard you could see him wiping a tear from his eye. "I didn’t think you’d actually do it, darlin’. You’re too good."

You puffed up, cheeks flushing at his teasing. "Stop it!" you whined, trying to hide your flustered grin. "Can we just get back to the game, please?"

Ronin’s eyes gleamed as he leaned back, a devilish smirk forming. "Alright, alright, I’ll let it slide. But, since I’m still feeling generous, here’s your next dare." His smile widened, something dangerous lingering in his tone. "DM V—tell him how much you love me. A love note. You’re a writer, right? Should be easy."

Your heart skipped a beat. "You... you want me to die by V’s hand, don’t you?!" you half-joked, though the idea of V seeing that was enough to make you want to scream. Ronin looked at you, completely unserious, then shrugged with a smirk.

"I won’t let any serial killer touch you, darlin'. Your aorta’s mine. Only I get to kiss it and... well, you know the rest." His tone was dark, possessive, and the intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine.

And just like that, he ended the call, leaving you giggling uncontrollably, heart pounding in your chest. He always did this—left you wanting more, teetering on the edge of madness, half in love and half terrified. But God, did you love it.

But now… the dare. You stared at your phone, dreading what you had to do. You couldn’t chicken out. Not after all that. Sighing, you switched over to the group chat with Angel and Misaki and hesitantly typed out your message.

You: "Guys... uh, I just wanted to say how much I love Ronin. Like, seriously. He’s... the best. Yup, totally obsessed. Just thought you should know."

You winced as you hit send, waiting for the chaos to

You pressed the call button before your nerves could get the best of you, the ringing pulling you into a familiar rhythm. It wasn’t long before the screen lit up, and there was Ronin, lounging back like he had nothing better to do. His face filled the screen, smug as always, that half-grin already sending a shiver down your spine.

"How the tables have turned," he said, voice dripping with amusement. "It used to be me calling you all the time. Now, look at you, darlin'—dialing me up in a hurry."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at his theatrics. "As if. You picked up just as fast, don't forget that."

He leaned back, letting out a low chuckle, fingers brushing through his messy hair. "Maybe so. But it’s much more fun to pretend I’m the one calling the shots."

You narrowed your eyes at him through the screen, but there was no real fire behind it. The way he teased you was too familiar now,

You hesitated for a second, your finger hovering over the call button before pressing it. The ringing barely lasted a moment before Ronin picked up, his face appearing on the screen with that familiar, amused smirk.

"Well, well, look how the tables have turned," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It used to be me calling you, now it’s you who can’t wait, huh?"

You shot him a playful glare. "You picked up fast too, don’t act like you weren’t waiting."

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed casually as he eyed you. "Oh, please. If I didn’t pick up, you’d probably have a meltdown and start butchering Shakespeare again." He laughed darkly. "Which is exactly why I’m going to feed you to the fish unless you apologize for that little performance. And you better do it in your best Shakespearean voice, or I’m hanging up."

You panicked for a second, heart racing as he leaned forward, clearly waiting for your response. "Wait, you’re joking, right?" you asked nervously, but his expression didn’t change.

"Nope. You’ve got five seconds, or I’m out. Five... four..."

You let out a sigh, scrambling for words. "Uh—okay, okay!" You cleared your throat dramatically. "Dearest Ronin, I doth apologize from the deepest pits of mine heart! Thine magnificence is too grand, and I—thy humble servant—have wronged thee in a manner most grievous!"

Ronin leaned back, watching with a grin spreading across his face. He burst into laughter, unable to contain it. "That... was gold, darling. Absolute gold." He was laughing so much he almost tipped back in his chair. You puffed up at his teasing, your cheeks turning pink.

"Stopppp teasing me, Ronin!" you groaned.

Still chuckling, he composed himself. "Alright, alright. You did well, I’ll give you that. But we’re not done yet. I’ve got a real dare for you."

You eyed him warily. "What now?"

His smile turned devilish. "I want you to DM V... and tell him how much you love me. Like, full-on love note, make it good. You’re a writer, right? Pour your heart out. And don’t think I’m joking."

Your heart practically stopped. "You can’t be serious. You know V’s going to kill me, right?"

Ronin didn’t even flinch. "Oh, I know. But I won’t let any serial killer lay a finger on you. Because remember—" His gaze darkened, voice lowering. "Your aorta is mine. I’m the only one who has the right to kiss you... or kill you. And trust me, darling, when it’s time... I’ll do both."

With that, he disconnected the call, leaving you sitting there, breathless.

You giggled, heart racing at how darkly romantic that was. There was something terrifying and thrilling about the way Ronin claimed you so possessively, the way he talked about love and death as if they were intertwined. But then your attention shifted back to the dare. V was not going to let you live after this.

Still, a dare was a dare. You sighed and opened up the group chat with Angel and Misaki, already dreading their reactions, but the thought of Ronin waiting for your next move pushed you forward.

You: "Hey... I need to confess something. You know how Ronin’s been driving me crazy, right? Well, I think I’m in love with him. Like, truly, head-over-heels. The way he teases me, the way he knows me better than I know myself... it’s like he’s in my head, and I can’t get him out. He’s got this hold on me, and I don’t even want to break free. I’m his, and I think I always have been. Just thought you guys should know. ❤️"

Angel: "Even I wasn’t this down bad... Y/n, I CAN’T with you right now." A flood of sob emojis followed her message, her shock almost palpable through the text.

You couldn’t help but snicker to yourself, but before you could type anything back, Misaki jumped in.

Misaki: "HAHAHAHAHAHA!! Oh my GOD, this is gold! Like, you really just went there!" You imagined her laughing hysterically on the other side, probably screenshotting the whole conversation for later.

But it was V’s reply that really had you shaking your head.

V: "...I’m so done. Completely and utterly done. What did I just read?" You could almost see him rubbing his temples in frustration, his usual calm demeanor strained under the weight of this absurd confession.

You couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face as you typed out your reply.

You: "Look, I’m just built different, okay? Y’all wouldn’t understand."

Angel sent another message almost immediately.

Angel: " this isn’t ‘built different.’ This is straight-up unhinged, and I respect that." She followed it up with more crying-laughing emojis, clearly amused by how far gone you were.

Misaki wasn’t letting up either.

Misaki: "Nah, you’ve crossed the line into ‘hopelessly obsessed,’ but hey, at least you’re owning it. Respect!"

But V, as expected, was still done with it all.

V: "I genuinely don’t know how you sleep at night. But whatever this is, I want no part of it. Keep me out of your Ronin chaos."

The corners of your mouth twitched, and you giggled to yourself. Ronin had that effect on people, making everything feel like a wild ride they weren’t ready for. And you? You were absolutely reveling in it.

You leaned back in your chair, fingers hovering over the keys, wondering if you should tell Ronin what just happened. But knowing him, he’d probably already be watching from the shadows, amused by the whole thing.

You: "Y’all are just jealous you’re not in the deep end with me. I’ve accepted my fate."

You hit send, watching the chat blow up again, but all you could think about was Ronin. Your mind spiraled back to him—his smirk, the way his voice could send shivers down your spine

You grinned as you sent Ronin the screenshot of the group chat, waiting for his reaction. His reply came in almost immediately.

Ronin: "Good job, darlin’. But it's late... don’t you think you should get some sleep? Recharge those chaotic little brain cells of yours so you’ll be all bright and enthusiastic for tomorrow..." You could practically hear his voice, teasing yet strangely sincere. He knew exactly how to push your buttons, but tonight, you weren’t ready to let the conversation end.

You: "But I wanted you to do one final dare!"

There was a long pause, and for a moment, you wondered if he’d fallen asleep on you. But then his message popped up, and your heart raced a little faster.

Ronin: "A final dare, huh? And what would that be? Guess I’ll find out tomorrow, right?"

You bit your lip, an idea forming in your mind, one that you couldn’t shake. It was impulsive, reckless even, but with Ronin... that was kind of the point. You quickly typed out your response, not giving yourself time to second-guess it.

You: "How about... you come over for a sleepover? At my house."

You stared at the screen, feeling your pulse quicken. The seconds stretched on as you waited for his reply. Then, just like that, the notification pinged, and you knew from the start he’d never back down from something like this.

Ronin: "A sleepover, huh? You really are full of surprises. Well, I’m not one to turn down an invitation from my darling, especially one as tempting as this. Fine. I’m in."

You grinned, your excitement barely contained as you typed back.

You: "Great! I’ll make sure to prepare something fun."

Ronin: "Oh, I bet you will. Just make sure you’re ready for whatever comes next. darlin'."

Your fingers hovered over the keys, and you felt a strange mix of anticipation and nervousness. Inviting Ronin over meant taking this whole twisted connection to a new level, but you couldn’t help it. You wanted more of him—more of his dark charm, more of the way he made you feel like you were the only person in his world.

But just as you were about to reply, another message popped up.

Ronin: "Get some sleep. You’re gonna need it."

You smirked, your mind already racing with the possibilities of what tomorrow would bring. Your thoughts, tinged with that dangerous lovesickness, shifted back to the creeping obsession you’d been harboring for a while now. The way Ronin played his little games... it made your blood pump in a way nothing else could.

You walk like a storm, all messy curls and cracked grin, a crowbar slung over your soul, waiting for something to break— or bloom.

You say love’s a game, and I’m the prize you’re twisting, a little porcelain doll to corrupt, to stain with every scar you call devotion. But I see it, Ronin— how you cherish each flaw you etch into me like a masterpiece unfolding beneath your hands.

You say you’re a black hole, pulling me deeper, a gravity well of ruin I’ll never escape. But even a black hole dreams of stars, doesn’t it? Even in your emptiness, you crave the heat of something bright enough to shatter.

Twist me, ruin me, make me grotesque. I’ll play your game, if only to see that glint in your eyes— that flicker of awe, as if for once, you've found something too wild to tame.

And when you’re ten minutes late, grinning with blood on your knuckles, you’ll call me “darling,” like the end of the world is a love story only we understand.

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH EVEN DEATH WON'T DO US APART!

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