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inseobts · 4 months ago

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Green Rival

zoro x fem!reader + yonji x fem!reader

you all meet sanji's brothers again after wci and that's how your boyfriend zoro finds out you have another green haired suitor

words count: 3.2k

tags: sanji's annoying brothers, jealousy, romance, soft

masterlist || ko-fi

The day had started so well. The sea was calm, the weather was nice, and for once, nobody was trying to kill you.

But of course, peace never lasts when you’re with the Strawhats.

“Land ahead!” Luffy shouts from the crow’s nest.

Everyone gathers on deck, watching as a small island comes into view. Nami, ever the responsible one, is already squinting at her map.

“This island wasn’t on the log pose…” she mutters.

Sanji, who had been flipping a pan of eggs in the kitchen just moments ago, suddenly freezes mid-step. His cigarette nearly falls out of his mouth.

“Oi, what’s wrong with you weirdo?” Zoro asks, raising an eyebrow at Sanji’s weird reaction.

Sanji, looking like he just saw a ghost, grits his teeth “I have a very bad feeling about this...”

The moment you all step onto the island, it becomes very clear why.

Standing in the middle of a clearing, looking just as shocked as you all feel, are none other than Judge and the Vinsmoke brothers, aka Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji.

The silence is actually painful.

“…Well. This is awkward...” Nami says, breaking the tense atmosphere.

Judge just glares at Sanji like the disappointing science experiment gone wrong he thinks his son is. Sanji’s face twists in anger, and you’re already bracing for a fight...

... at least until Yonji (the green one btw) suddenly grins and rushes toward you.

“Y/N!!!!!”

Oh no.

Yonji practically sparkles as he walks up, chest puffed out like he’s the main event “It’s been way too long, gorgeous”

You resist the urge to groan. You knew this would happen. You knew the second he saw you, he’d start this nonsense again.

Zoro, however, was not expecting this at all.

“…What the...?”

Before you can even react, Yonji swoops down, takes your hand and kisses it, and then he winks “I never forgot about you, you know.”

Zoro’s eye twitches. Twice.

Franky watches with interest “Whoa. What’s happening?”

Chopper blinks “That guy is still flirting?”

Brook chuckles “Oh my, how bold!”

Nami, looking far too entertained, smirks at you “I forgot about this little detail from Whole Cake Island. The green one had a thing for you, huh?”

Zoro is still frozen. Processing. Trying to understand why this is a thing that exists in HIS world.

You, on the other hand, yank your hand back before Yonji can do something stupid... again “Yonji. No.”

Yonji gasps dramatically, clutching his chest “You wound me, y/n! After all the time we spent together in Whole Cake Island...”

“You mean the time you spent getting punched in the face?” Sanji interrupts, rubbing his temples like this is giving him an actual migraine.

Yonji waves him off “That's how we flirt...” He turns back to you, flashing what he clearly thinks is a charming smile “But I see you’ve still got that spark! You know, you don’t have to stay with your boyfriend... what was even his name? Or did you break up with him to be with me finally???”

Zoro finally snaps out of it “EXCUSE ME?!”

“Oh, so YOU are the competition...” Yonji muses, looking Zoro up and down with a disgusted face “Huh. I gotta say, y/n, you’ve got an interesting taste. He’s got the whole ‘grumpy ronin’ thing going on. You into that??”

Luffy perks up “Oh yeah, she’s totally into that...”

Nami grins “Yup, definitely her type.”

Chopper nods enthusiastically “Yeah, she likes grumpy, swordy guys.”

Brook laughs “Ahh, young love~”

Zoro, who had been slowly turning redder throughout this conversation, finally explodes “SHUT THE HELL UP, ALL OF YOU!!”

Yonji smirks “Touchy, huh? You sure he treats you right, y/n? Maybe you should consider a man who can actually handle you.”

Zoro immediately reaches for his swords “That’s it. I’m killing him. Now.”

You physically have to grab Zoro’s arm to stop him from committing actual murder “Zoro, breathe... Breathe.”

Yonji just smirks wider “See? He’s too hot-headed for you. A real man stays cool and confident. Just like me.”

Sanji, who has been suffering through this entire thing, finally loses it “OH FOR GOD’S SAKE, YONJI! Y/N WOULD RATHER DIE THAN GO ANYWHERE WITH OR NEAR YOU!”

Yonji sighs, placing a hand over his heart “You guys are so mean to me.”

Luffy laughs “This guy is kinda funny!”

Sanji lights up a new cigarette “Do not encourage him.”

Zoro glares at Luffy “Which side are you on?”

Brook hums “Although… now that I look at you two…”

You blink “What?”

Brook tilts his head “Yonji and Zoro… they do look kind of similar, don’t they?”

Everyone pauses.

You turn to look at Yonji. Then back at Zoro.

Oh my god.

The green hair. The sharp features. The stupidly stubborn expressions.

You gasp “Oh my god.”

Zoro frowns “What?”

You grin “Zoro… he... he kinda looks like you...”

Zoro’s eye twitches “NO HE DOESN’T.”

Usopp laughs and then he turns to the rest of the crew, so that everyone except for you, sanji and zoro could hear “He actually looks as if Zoro and Sanji had a son”

Everyone starts laughing, trying to hide from you and you look at them confused before Yonji steps in “Huh. Now that you all mention it… I am kinda like a better-looking version of him, aren’t I?”

Zoro draws his swords immediately.

“I WILL END YOU.”

The crew absolutely loses it. Luffy is on the floor wheezing, Nami is wiping tears from her eyes, and Sanji, for the first time in his life, actually agrees with Zoro about murdering someone.

You, meanwhile, just smirk and pat Zoro’s arm “Don’t worry. You’re the only green-haired idiot for me.”

Zoro grumbles, but you can see the tips of his ears turning pink “…Good.”

Yonji just sighs dramatically “Ah, well. Guess I’ll have to try again next time.”

Before anyone can react, he casually leans against a tree, arms crossed “Anyway, what brings you all here? Came to visit me?”

Zoro glares “Like hell we would.”

Yonji smirks “Deny it all you want, y/n clearly missed me.”

You see the change in Zoro’s demeanor almost immediately. His grip on his swords tightens. His brows furrow deeper, and you can practically hear the low growl in his throat. There’s something almost dangerous in the way he’s glaring at Yonji now.

Zoro, no longer content to just grumble, takes a step toward you, his eyes still locked on Yonji “You seriously don’t find this guy annoying?”

You blink, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone towords you “What? Yonji?”

Zoro’s eye twitches “Yeah, Yonji. That guy. You know, the one who can’t seem to keep his hands to himself—”

“Oh, come on, Zoro! I’m not interested in him” you interject, but it’s too late. Zoro’s already fuming. He crosses his arms, looking like he might set something on fire if his glare gets any more intense.

You sigh, giving him an exasperated look “I literally just told you, he’s annoying, okay? Does that make you happy?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just glares some more, while Yonji seems to be enjoying the show. You can’t help but notice how Zoro’s getting even more upset by the second. It’s like watching a kettle about to boil over.

“You don't have to say things you don't think just to make me happy and I swear, if I see him wink at you one more time…” Zoro mutters to himself, barely holding it together.

Nami, who’s been snickering in the background, calls out “Zoro, calm down! We’ve got bigger things to deal with than this drama.”

Luffy, ever the troublemaker, raises an eyebrow and says “Yeah, Zoro, you’re acting all jealous!”

Zoro shoots them both a deadly glare, making them immediately stop. But you can tell they all are having way too much fun with this.

You’re starting to feel like you might actually be caught in the middle of some absurd love triangle, and that’s definitely not what you signed up for today.

“Okay, enough with the staring contest,” you say, rolling your eyes, “Zoro, stop. You're acting like an idiot.”

Zoro huffs, still refusing to look at you “I’m not the idiot here and I'm not jealous,” he says through clenched teeth “I just don’t like the guy.”

“Sure, sure, Zoro,” you tease, walking up to him and nudging him with your shoulder “You really don’t like him, huh?”

Zoro shifts uncomfortably, clearly still not ready to admit anything. His eye twitches as he stares out into the distance, and you can see the muscles in his jaw working overtime today “Yeah. I really don’t like him, so what? Don't treat me like a kid...”

You smile softly at him “Don't pay him this much attention, he's just trying his best but it's useless anyway. And I have to admit, your jealousy is a bit cute” you say trying to make him relax about the situation, but this actually worsen everything but you realise it only later.

In fact, Zoro’s posture stiffens, and his fists ball at his sides. He finally turns his head, his gaze sharp and cold as he looks at you. For a moment, the tension between you both is thick enough to cut with a sword.

And then, without any warning, he growls “If you like him so much, why don’t you go with him then?”

You stare at Zoro in disbelief. The words hit you harder than you expected, and your heart does a little lurch in your chest. Your eyes narrow as you cross your arms, trying to keep your cool “What did you just say?”

Zoro shifts uncomfortably, clearly not ready for the words to come out like that, but his pride won’t let him backtrack. He looks away, then mutters “I said if you like him so much, go with him, then.”

Your mouth falls open, the shock of his words giving way to a flush of anger “Excuse me?” You take a step toward him, shaking your head in disbelief “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You really think I want to go off with him??”

Zoro stays silent, a vein popping in his temple as he looks anywhere but at you. His posture is stiff, like he’s forcing himself not to turn and walk away.

You continue, voice rising with frustration “You’re really THIS MUCH jealous of Yonji? Really?”

Zoro’s eye twitches “Stop saying that... I already said it, I’m not jealous” he says flatly, but you can see his hands balling into fists at his sides.

"Yeah? So I’m the problem, huh?" You take another step forward, chest puffed with frustration.

Before Zoro can retort, a voice interrupts, smooth, smooth as ever.

“You know, y/n,” Yonji says, stepping forward with a dramatic flourish “if you need someone who understands you, I’m here. I always was.”

You let out an exasperated groan, rolling your eyes so hard you nearly hurt yourself "Oh my god, Yonji, please stop now. I told you—"

Before you can even finish, Yonji is already presenting you with a ridiculous bouquet of flowers, smirking “You’ve always had such exquisite taste. I’m sure these would look beautiful on you.”

Zoro’s eye twitches again, his patience hanging by a thread “Are you seriously still doing this, you idiot? Can't you read the room?”

But Yonji doesn’t seem to care. He’s too busy smirking at you, eyes glinting as he presents the flowers like they’re the most precious thing in the world “You’re much too beautiful to settle for someone who can’t even get his words right to you” Yonji says smoothly, his voice dripping with faux sincerity.

This does not help.

You feel your patience starting to snap "Oh my God, Yonji!" you exclaim, throwing your hands up in the air “Seriously? Stop trying to give me flowers in the middle of this!” You take a deep breath and turn back to Zoro, who still looks like a bundle of rage and frustration.

He’s glaring at Yonji now, his jaw clenched and his body coiled like a spring, ready to snap. The silence that hangs between you all is thick with tension.

“I just want the best for you darling, and that's me, I'm clearly the best option”

And then, just like this the tension breaks.

Zoro suddenly yells, his voice booming with pure fury “I’LL KILL YOU, YOU DAMNED PEST!!”

The entire crew jumps in shock. You quickly turn to Zoro, trying to calm him down before the situation gets any worse “Zoro, please, calm down—”

But Zoro is already stalking toward Yonji, his swords drawn, every inch of him radiating the kind of anger you’re well acquainted with. You’re not sure whether to laugh or cry, but you definitely don’t want him making this worse.

“Zoro, stop!” you shout, rushing toward him and grabbing his arm before he can do anything rash "You’re acting like an idiot! Just let it go, please!”

For a moment, Zoro just stands there, muscles tense under your grip, his breathing ragged. His glare stays locked on Yonji, but he’s clearly fighting himself, trying to hold back.

Yonji, who’s been far too entertained by this entire scene, steps back with an exaggerated sigh “Ah, you two. Such passion,” he says, still holding out the bouquet like it’s a peace offering “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re both jealous. What’s the matter? Not enough room for two men in y/n’s life?”

Zoro’s eye twitches again. You, meanwhile, feel a headache coming on “Yonji, this is not helping!”

And that’s when it happens.

Zoro glances at you, eyes still sharp, but now there’s a hint of... something else? His voice drops low, almost like he’s growling under his breath “I don’t like anyone who gets in the way of what’s mine...” he says, and you freeze.

Wait, what did he just say?

Before you can process, Zoro turns around with a grumble “Whatever. I don’t have time to argue with you. We’re wasting time.”

You can’t help but laugh at his stubbornness. It’s adorable in its own way, and you finally decide to make it stop once and for all.

You take a step forward, pulling Zoro gently by the arm to face you. He looks down at you, eyes still a little tense, and you put your hands on his chest “Zoro,” you say with a soft smile “You're the only one I care about, okay?”

He freezes for a moment, as if trying to process your words. His expression softens, just a bit.

“You’re mine, huh?” you tease with a playful grin, mimicking his voice.

Zoro’s face goes a little pink, but he quickly brushes it off with a muttered, “Shut up.”

You laugh softly, finally stepping into his space, wrapping your arms around his waist “You’re such a dork,” you say affectionately, resting your head against his chest “But you’re my dork.”

He sighs, but this time, it’s not out of irritation. He relaxes, his arms wrapping around you “Yeah, yeah… don’t go getting all soft on me now.”

You pull back just a little, eyes gleaming with mischief “I could get really soft on you, you know.”

Zoro raises an eyebrow, then smirks “Not in front of everyone.”

At that, you both glance over at the rest of the crew, who are all staring at you two, wide-eyed, waiting for the next dramatic turn.

“You guys are all so immature” you groan, making Zoro chuckle as you try to hide burying your face into his chest.

“Well, someone had to tell that weirdo green Sanji who’s the boss” Zoro mutters, a soft smirk still on his face.

You laugh softly, finally feeling the calm after the storm of jealousy pass between the two of you. At least for now, anyway.

“And just for the record,” you add, “I’m not breaking up with you anytime soon, no matter how annoying Yonji gets.”

Zoro grumbles, but you catch the small, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he pulls you closer, ignoring the rest of the crew's teasing.

“Good” he says, settling into you.

The tension finally starts to dissipate. Yonji, seeing that his attempts at flirting have officially failed, grumbles to himself and starts wandering off “Whatever. You guys are no fun.” He gives one last exaggerated sigh, throwing his hands up, and disappears into the woods. Where the rest of his family left minutes ago without saying a word.

Franky, trying to lighten the mood, claps Zoro on the back, nearly knocking him off balance “Damn, Zoro, you’re really serious about her, huh?”

Zoro barely acknowledges him, still standing rigid, his arms crossed tightly. The rest of the crew, including Sanji, are chuckling or whispering among themselves, all far too entertained by the scene that just unfolded.

You take a deep breath, rubbing your forehead in exasperation “I swear, you guys are all impossible…”

Luffy grins, completely oblivious to the tension, and waves at you both “Alright! Let’s go, guys! We’re leaving! On to the next adventure!”

Nami and Chopper follow Luffy, not bothering to look back, still snickering. Brook gives a little laugh as he walks past, his bony fingers strumming a tune on his invisible guitar.

Sanji, still puffing on a cigarette, shoots you both a knowing glance before he follows after the rest of the crew “Don’t think I like you now just because I hate my brother more” he says with a wink.

Zoro grumbles something under his breath, but you can tell he’s starting to cool off. He turns his back to you and walks a few steps toward the ship, but then pauses.

You watch him for a moment, the way his broad shoulders relax as the weight of the situation begins to lift. When he’s not looking, you smile to yourself and quietly walk up behind him.

Without thinking too much about it, you quickly step forward, your heart racing a little. Before Zoro can turn around, you give him a quick kiss.

Zoro freezes, his body stiffening for a moment, and you quickly pull back, your heart pounding in your chest. For just a second, there’s a silence. The world seems to stop moving, and you hold your breath, wondering if you’ve done something ridiculous.

Zoro slowly turns his head, his face flushed, and he looks at you in surprise. But then he just grins, his usual smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Is that your way of saying you’re not mad at me anymore?” he asks, his voice gruff but softer than before.

You laugh softly, not sure if you’re nervous or happy or both “Maybe,” you say, shrugging “But don’t let it get to your head. You’re still a pain in the ass.”

Zoro’s grin widens “I’ll take that as a win.”

With that, he turns back toward the ship, walking a bit slower now, as if he’s giving you a chance to catch up. You follow behind, a contented smile on your face, and you know that despite everything, all it's going to be okay.

And as you board the ship, side by side, you can’t help but feel a little lighter. Maybe this is how things were always meant to be.

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nikipuff · 5 months ago

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Masterlist <33

A Date with Death

Casper SFW Alphabet (Part 1) Casper SFW Alphabet (Part 2) Casper SFW Alphabet (Part 3) Casper SFW Alphabet (Part 4) Casper SFW Alphabet (Part 5) The Last Day (Part 1) The Last Day (Good End) The Last Day (Bad End) !Messy!MC x Casper !TV/Actress!MC x Casper Scythe Practice Casper x !Thanatophobia!Reader !Human!Casper !Jealous!Casper Casper x !Clumsy!Reader Casper x !Nightowl!Reader Casper x !Breakdown!Reader Casper x !Period!MC Casper x !Forgetful!M Casper helping !Wife!MC with a headache Casper x Reader having a mental breakdown Casper helping Reader with cramps Casper x !Playful!Reader Double Date with Casper Don't Fear the Reaper Casper x !Clingy!Reader Accidental Kill A Helping Hand (Casper x Blind!Reader)

Ongoing fics for A Date With Death

Starry Nights

Mushroom Oasis

Comforting Mychael Holidays with Mychael Cooking with Mychael Sick Mychael Mychaal trying candy Mychael x !AvidReader!MC !Monster!Mychael x Reader A Birthday with Mychael Yandere Mychael Drabble Mychael x Reader who doesn't want to leave Mychael x Musical-loving Reader Don't Touch Those Mychael using his powers on MC

Killer Chat

Ronin x !Sick!Reader Angel with an Insomniac Partner Ronin x Reader with a fear of blood Ronin with an Insomniac Partner Ronin x !Nurse!Reader V has a nightmare Angel x !Protective!Darling Don't Leave Me (Ronin x !Dying!Reader) You Didn't Leave Me (Ronin x !Dying!Reader) Stop laughing! (Ronin x Reader) Ronin x !Streamer!Reader Dating Ronin headcanons Angel x !Manager!Reader Gaming Night Dying Reader Drabble (Ronin) Don't worry, Darlin' (Ronin) What They Wanted (Misaki) Keep Your Hand in Mine (Ronin) Bound (Yandere Ronin) Yandere Ronin Headcanons Goodbye Angel (Ronin x Reader, reader commits suicide) Ronin Angst Alphabet (p. 1) My Head... (Ronin x Reader / Angel x Reader) Ronin x Clingy!Reader I'm Here (Angel x Reader) Ronin getting arrested drabble

Demon Slayer

Tanjiro x !Child!Reader

My Hero Academia

Sweet Dreams (Shigaraki x Reader)

Jujutsu Kaisen

Satoru with a shy reader Yandere Satoru drabble

Bloodlust Masterlist (JJK x Reader)

409 notes · View notes

ginnsbaker · 23 days ago

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All Of Your Pieces (28 - Coming Home)

Chapter Summary: Wanda’s absence had never stopped aching through your bones. Her memory lived beneath your skin like a scar that would never fully heal. And as much as you tried to let go, there were nights when you lay awake wondering what she’d think if she ever saw you now. If she’d understand the choices you made in her absence. The quiet, ruthless way you’d turned off parts of yourself just to survive. If Wanda came back, would she still love you? You didn’t know.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 6k | Chapter Tags: Angst all the way

A/N: Can you believe we are more than halfway to the end? Thank you for sticking with me :) // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Three years have passed.

A gentle exhale brushed your skin, slow and steady, like waves retreating from the shore. The first thing you felt wasn’t the sunlight slipping through the curtains—it was Kia’s arm draped loosely over your waist, her leg tangled with yours. She was still asleep, pressed close, her body radiating heat that expelled the never-ending cold of Reykjavik. Three years and you were still not used to its climate. You blinked once, twice, trying to shake away the remnants of dreams that clung to your mind.

Then you shifted, careful not to wake Kia. But she stirred anyway, sensing your movement, her eyelids fluttering as she peeked at you through one half-lidded eye. Her dark hair was mussed, and you almost laughed at how absolutely perfect she looked—sleep-warmed cheeks, lips parted in a silent yawn. She fixed her eyes on you, and a smile slowly crawled its way to her dry lips.

“Morning,” she whispered, her voice still husky.

You responded by pressing a soft kiss to her temple. In return, Kia took your hand and let her lips graze lightly across your knuckles. Your mornings had been like this nearly every day—quiet, simple, sweet. The kind of peace you never thought possible back when you were sweating through old mattresses in rundown rentals as Ronin. That life feels like a distant nightmare now—one Kia somehow managed to wake you from.

You shifted to prop yourself on one elbow, looking down at her. “So… any chance you could stay home today?” you asked, light teasing in your tone as you massaged her neck, causing her to purr. “I know you have to work, but I was thinking… we could call it a personal day.”

She laughed weakly. “I can’t exactly make a habit of it. Besides, I don’t think my patients would appreciate me vanishing on a whim.” She reached to smooth the collar of your sleep shirt, her fingertips dancing down your collarbone. “You know I’d love to, though.”

You let out a theatrical sigh. “You never bent the rules for me,” you said, hoping to coax another smile from her.

“I did,” she replied softly. “Just not the ones that put other people’s health at risk.”

“You’re irritatingly noble, Dr. Heimisson.”

She leaned in for a kiss. It lingered, your fingers sliding into her hair. You tilted your head, chasing more, your mouth parting slightly as your tongue brushed against hers—testing, asking. She didn't pull away. If anything, she leaned in, her hand tightening at the back of your neck. You smiled into it, knowing exactly what you were doing.

Then, just as things started to tip, she pulled back. “I’ll make us coffee,” she said, her voice low and a little reluctant.

She sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, pausing just for a second before standing. Her scrubs were still folded on the chair from last night. Always neat.

By the time she’d pulled on a shirt and stepped out of the bedroom, you found yourself glancing around the room, the life you’d built together mapped out in the small details. A couple of photos on the dresser. A shared sock drawer. A small stack of your books in the corner (you’d stopped hoarding them a while ago), trading in the ones you’d finished for used copies you hadn’t, from the only bookstore in town. Sometimes, in moments like this, you could still feel the shape of who you used to be. The horrible things you’ve done. But it didn’t take over anymore. Not like it used to.

You passed into the kitchen and saw her hovering by the coffeemaker, quietly humming a tune you had taught her. She offered you a mug, steam curling into the air.

“You heading out today?” she asked, her soft blue eyes curious. It’s your favorite part of her body. Eyes always held the most power over you, capable of commanding you in ways nothing else ever could.

“Just errands,” you answered. “Groceries, maybe. If you think of anything else we need, text me.”

She nodded before inching closer to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear like she always did. You reached past her for the sugar; her hip nudged yours, a silent order to hold still. You answered with a playful grin, letting her plant a quick kiss on your cheek before she slipped out, the front door clicking shut behind her.

The house went still. You stood there for a while, basking in the quiet morning.

You didn’t know it yet, but that quiet wasn’t going to last.

—

A call came a few hours later. You were halfway through your grocery list, staring at tomatoes that didn’t look particularly ripe, when your phone vibrated. You missed it. But it was quickly followed by a text, signed by a name glowing on the screen that made your pulse spike.

Steve Rogers. You hadn’t heard that name in… well, in a long time.

You hadn’t really spoken to anyone from the old team in the last three years. Just a handful of letters from Natasha after she somehow tracked you down. You responded, politely, once. You told her you were okay, but asked her not to write again, and she respected that.

When you stepped into life with Kia, you swore off everything that came before. No ghosts, no familiar faces, a clean slate. You told yourself it was the only way anything could feel real again.

Though, somehow, you never managed to throw out Wanda’s things.

They stayed in the basement, buried in boxes you hadn’t opened in years. Somewhere back there were old photos, her worn red jacket. The ring you picked out together—meant to match Wanda’s—now hangs from a chain around your neck. You couldn’t bring yourself to throw it away, but you couldn’t wear it either.

Hers, you imagine, turned to dust long ago.

Your phone when it rang again, causing you to jump in surprise. For an instant, you almost let it go to voicemail. Old instincts kicked in, though—your heart pounded with the sense that if you ignored it, you might have regretted it forever. So you tapped the answer button, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Y/N?”

That voice that used to inspire a room of heroes was unmistakable. It really was him. Your response got stuck in your throat, so you managed little more than, “Steve… yeah. Hey.”

He asked how you were, and you gave him the kind of answer people give when they don’t want to get into it. He tried to stretch the small talk, but you could feel it—this wasn’t that kind of call.

“You can skip the pleasantries, Steve,” you said, not unkindly.

He let out a quiet sigh, then got to the point. “There’s a way. A way to bring them back.”

You swore the world tilted. You gripped your phone tighter, your steps faltering. “What are you talking about?” you asked, but you already knew. The question was just instinct, something to fill the space where air had suddenly become hard to find.

Steve breathed heavily on the other end. This wasn’t some vague, wishful bring-them-back idea, you could tell that much already. Whatever it was, it ran deeper than a theory. It felt like driftwood tossed to the drowning—long overdue, and just barely enough to hold onto. And he was clearly trying to figure out how to explain it to you. Still, you held out any hope that it was true.

“We’re close to a plan,” he explained. “We think we can reverse what happened five years ago—undo the Snap entirely. Tony and Bruce have figured out how the Quantum Realm—”

“What’s that?”

Steve paused. You could practically hear the internal God help me sigh. It made your lips quirk a little into a small smile.

“It’s… okay, so, it’s like a pocket dimension where time moves differently. Or slower. Or maybe not. I don’t know, it’s—” He stopped himself, clearly spiraling. “Look, kid, if you want more science, you’re gonna have to ask Banner or Tony. Or basically anyone else on the team.”

You let out a small, stunned breath. “Okay…”

“All I know is, they’re almost entirely sure that it would work. And we need you.”

That last part settled into your chest and lodged itself there.

“We’ll retrieve the Infinity Stones from different points in our past, bring them back here, and use them to bring everyone back,” Steve continued. “But we’ll only have one shot at this. Once we’ve fixed things, we’ll return the Stones to their rightful moments so we don’t create alternate timelines.”

“You’re saying time travel?” It came out in a choked whisper.

“Yes. It’s a ‘time heist,’ as Scott calls it.”

The longer the call dragged on, the more questions piled up—none with clear answers. But for now, you let them sit. There’d be time to sort through the mess later.

“What exactly do you need from me?”

“Tony’s got two jobs for you,” he began. “First, there’s a mineral he needs for the time-space GPS we’re building. Without it, the machine might be too unstable to use. There’s a museum in Houston that has it. It’s heavily guarded. Unofficially, too, since this mineral isn’t exactly common knowledge.”

“And after I hand over this mineral?” you asked.

“You’ll join the team to retrieve the stones.”

It sounded simple enough. But you were curious about one more thing.

“Why me?” you asked.

“This has to be a stealth job, and with Natasha going after Clint, there’s no one else who can handle this off-the-radar. You’ve got the skill and the anonymity.”

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the ‘end call’ button, giving yourself one last chance to forget about all this. “So… no official channels?”

“Exactly,” Steve said. “We don’t want to risk alerting the government, or anyone else. If this fails, it could devastate people all over again.”

“You said it would work,” you replied evenly.

“I know this will work. It has to.”

You wanted to laugh at the irony. The phone felt hot against your ear.

“Do I have time to think about it?” you asked.

Steve sighed. “You have until tonight.”

—

The hours between that call and Kia’s arrival home were excruciating. You found yourself pacing the living room, your mind stewing in guilt as it replayed Wanda’s laughter, the perfect shape of her face and the feel of her hand in yours. Over and over and over again.

And then there was Kia. The woman who’d patiently, gently pieced your broken heart back together, who had stayed through the wreckage until life began to feel solid again. Who loved you at your worst. Was it even right to push against destiny like this? To rewrite history, bend the universe to your will, and reverse events already set in motion?

But as quickly as you questioned it, your own logic countered: nothing about Thanos snapping half of all life into oblivion had ever been natural or just. Maybe this—this chance Steve offered—wasn't defiance at all, but a way to correct a cruel imbalance, to make things whole again. You’d never felt whole since that incident. And neither did Kia even though she’d never said it out loud.

You told yourself firmly this wasn't a choice between Wanda and Kia. But deep down, from the moment Steve uttered those three impossible words—bring them back—you knew the decision had already been made. If there was even the slightest chance to undo the damage, you'd reach out and take it, consequences be damned.

By the time Kia’s key rattled in the lock, you’ve turned over Steve’s proposal a thousand times in your head. She stepped in, setting her work bag on the nearest chair. The way she looked at you—face drawn, concern evident in her eyes—told you she could sense your tension.

“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately, drawing near.

You forced yourself to speak. You told her about Steve’s call, about the mission to reverse the Snap, the potential to bring back everyone who vanished. The unspoken word at the center was Wanda, but there was so much more: thousands of families, including Kia’s. Her own daughter, her husband.

Kia stood perfectly still as she processed it. You saw the flicker of hope in her eyes even as her features twisted with longing and fear.

Then she spoke softly, her voice trembling. “Is this really possible? Can they… can they bring my daughter back?”

That question squeezed your heart. Suddenly, you realized that your desire to see Wanda again paled next to Kia’s longing for her child. She had carried that emptiness with her every single day.

“Yes,” you managed to say, your voice thick. “We think so.”

Kia’s lower lip trembled. She didn’t cry, but you could feel how much she’s holding back.

“Then do it,” she said. “Help them.”

You reached for her hand, needing to feel her close, even as the distance between what you had and what might come stretched wider by the second. Neither of you said it out loud, but the truth hung there. If this plan worked, everything would change. Bringing everyone back meant rewriting entire lives, and this thing between you and Kia, it didn’t exactly fit into the world before, or the one that might follow.

Even thinking about it felt wrong. Selfish. Ugly.

You could feel yourself splitting into two realities. This reality with Kia, and the reality that dissolved with Wanda. You couldn’t find the words. You just held her hand tighter.

Kia looked away for a moment, like she could already see the ripple effects waiting on the horizon. Then her eyes found yours again. “Whatever happens,” she said softly, “we do this for them. For everyone who didn’t get a choice.”

In that moment, your love for her swelled and bloomed and gave you courage.

—

You left before dawn the next morning, a small duffel in hand, its contents carefully chosen and arranged the night before. Sleep had come in sparse increments, anxiety keeping you company. Houston was a thirteen-hour flight away; Tony had arranged an unregistered Quinjet, and you spent the journey reviewing the museum’s floor plans on a tablet.

The museum in question was near the outskirts of downtown Houston, housed in a stately old building renowned for its obscure geological exhibits. The public wasn’t aware of just how rare that “obscure” gem in its vault truly was. According to Tony’s notes, it was a type of mineral that reacted unusually to quantum energy—a piece critical for stabilizing the time-space GPS he and Bruce Banner were building. Without it, the device might overload on its own power.

As soon as you landed, you made your way to a safehouse on the city’s edge—just a nondescript apartment Tony had secured. There, you changed into dark clothing that offered maximum agility and minimal interference. You double-checked your infiltration tools—glass cutters, a slim electronic lockpick, and a tiny EMP device for any modern security measures.

There were nerves crawling under your skin you hadn’t felt in years. After everything—the missions,bloodshed you and Clint left scattered across cities, you didn’t think you were capable of feeling this shaken anymore.

Maybe it was because the entire operation hinged on this one task. If you failed, the rest of the plan fell apart. You cursed Tony under your breath. Now it made sense why he picked you. If things went sideways, you were the easiest to blame. He probably never thought much of you to begin with.

But he wasn’t wrong to choose you. Because no one had more riding on this than you, and no one was more determined to see it through.

Kia’s face flashed in your mind. Then Wanda’s. You forced your thoughts back to the present mission. “Let’s do this,” you muttered.

It was close to midnight when you arrived at the museum. The streets were quiet, most of the late-night commuters having already cleared out. You surveyed the main entrance from a safe distance—bright spotlights illuminated the grand facade, and security cameras perched like watchful owls along the eaves. Slipping around the side, you found a smaller service door just beyond a chain-link fence. There was a single guard on patrol, circling the perimeter with the slow, practiced boredom of someone who never expected trouble.

You timed the guard’s route, waiting behind a low hedge until he disappeared around the next corner. A quick jolt from your custom lockpick shorted the rusted padlock on the fence; it fell open with a dull click. You eased through, crossing the short distance to the service door in a half-crouch. Its old keypad glowed faintly. You attached a signal disruptor over the panel and waited, heart pounding in your ears, until the tiny light flickered green. The door clicked open.

Inside, darkness swallowed you. Only emergency exit signs and faint overhead safety bulbs gave any illumination. You consulted the mental map you’d memorized from Tony’s briefing, picturing the route to the restricted vault near the geological exhibits. There’d be motion sensors in the main corridors, so you stayed pressed to the walls, gliding past an open archway into a side hallway. You activated your handheld scanner, just enough to detect where infrared beams might crisscross. Sure enough, a series of faint red lines sliced through the corridor ahead. You ducked below one beam, then twisted sideways to avoid another. The entire maneuver would have made your old trainers proud.

Though there was a dull ache in your lower back from having been sedentary all these years.

Step by careful step, you progressed until you reached the thick, steel-reinforced door of the vault. A digital keypad glowed in the quiet gloom, showing an eight-digit lock. You expected that. What you hadn’t expected was the second biometric scanner installed next to it—an update not in Tony’s blueprint. You forced yourself to calm down, reminding yourself you’d done this before. Stealth ops always required a bit of improvisation.

You removed a small device from your belt pouch—another one of Tony’s countless inventions. It emitted a pulse that temporarily scrambled biometric scanners, forcing them to default to a bypass code if the user had one. But that code changed daily. You hoped the museum staff wouldn’t have updated the secondary system just yet.

By some cosmic stroke of luck (or Tony’s genius), the device beeped once, and the scanner’s screen flickered. A prompt for a four-digit override code replaced the biometric prompt. With your electronic lockpick engaged, you let it cycle through potential combinations at high speed. Tense seconds ticked by. Finally, a soft click hissed from the latch, and the vault door slid open two inches, revealing a small interior chamber lined with secure cases.

Your target lay in a sealed glass cylinder at the center, the mineral’s deep violet hue faintly luminous even in the shadows. In that moment, you sensed how important it was, how it seemed like a full circle moment. This was the literal keystone for rewriting history, for forging a path back to life as it once was. Or as close as it could get.

Carefully, you placed a glass cutter against the cylinder. The diamond tip whirred almost silently, creating a neat circular hole in the thick glass. You inserted a slim vacuum rod and slipped out the mineral. It was heavier than expected, humming with an odd energy in your hand.

Before you left, you remembered your promise. You took a small folded note from your pocket (paper, so it couldn’t be easily traced), and placed it inside the now-empty cylinder.

It read:

“I’m sorry I had to do this. Don’t worry—I’ll return what I borrowed exactly two weeks from today. It needs to save the world first.”

You signed it with only a small symbol at the bottom—a private insignia you once used on covert ops, but nothing that would blatantly identify you. Then you turned, tucking the mineral into a padded case in your suit.

A short ride later, you were safely back at the safehouse, the artifact secured. You tossed your gear onto the small kitchen table and let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. The note you left would cause a stir; the museum might tighten security. But you planned to keep your promise.

You just hoped you’d live to see that day.

—

Three days later, you’re back where it all started.

You thought you’d be a little teary-eyed, considering this is where you’ve spent nearly half of your life. But what you felt instead was relief. Relief that the compound still stood. You watched the building for a long moment, soaking up the calm before the storm. In your right hand, you clutched the mineral that would complete the time machine.

“Aren’t you coming inside?”

You’d know that voice anywhere.

Clint Barton stood a few feet away, shoulders slightly hunched, looking nothing like the Ronin persona he’d worn over the past few years. He looked more like the old Clint, the one you didn’t know you missed so terribly.

You offered a faint nod and took a step forward, your boots crunching softly against the gravel.

“Didn’t expect to see you here first,” you said.

He gave you a wry smile. “Didn’t expect to be here at all.”

You exhaled slowly. The mineral pulsed faintly in your hand—your hand that had once gripped a weapon more than anything else, had learned to hold Wanda’s fingers with reverence, and later, Kia’s with gratitude.

Clint’s gaze dropped to it. “That’s what I think it is?”

You gave a small nod. “Final piece.”

“So… we’re really doing this?”

You looked at him then, really looked at him. “I’m not sure we are. This part’s on me.” You offered Clint the mineral and he cupped it carefully, turning it over in his hand.

“I thought you’d be suiting up with us,” he said. “Steve and Tony said you’d bring the piece. Didn’t think you’d just—”

“Drop it off and leave?” you finished, managing a faint smile. “That was the plan.”

Clint tilted his head. “Mind telling me why?”

“I told Steve and Tony I’d help find the last component. That’s it. That felt… enough.”

Clint stared at you for a beat. After all these years, he knew you too well to take your words at face value. “That’s all there is to it?”

You hesitated, then sighed. “No. Of course not.”

Clint waited, giving you the space to say it when you were ready.

“There’s a whole life waiting for me,” you said. “Far away from this place. With Kia. We built something that doesn’t need saving. And if I sign up for this—really sign up for this—I’d have to see it through to the end. To the moment someone snaps their fingers and brings everyone back.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze.

“And if she’s there, if Wanda comes back before I’m ready—” your voice faltered. “I don’t know if I’d be able to make a fair choice.”

Clint was quiet for a moment, jaw clenched, eyes soft. Then he nodded, slow and solemn.

“I get it,” he said. “God, I really do.”

He kicked at the gravel lightly. “I used to tell myself I went down that path to protect my family. After they were gone, I needed someone to blame for the world falling apart. You know that better than anyone.”

“I do,” you murmured.

“I dragged you down with me,” Clint added. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, eyes stinging. “No. We dragged each other. We weren’t… good for one another back then. We weren’t accountable. We made each other worse.”

Clint looked away, jaw tight. “Yeah.”

You both stood there in silence for a while, watching the horizon blur into a late afternoon haze.

“Do you really think this’ll work?” you asked.

“It has to,” he said.

“And when it does?” you asked. “What are you going to do when you get them back?”

He glanced at you, resignation in his eyes.

“I’m going to surrender,” he said simply. “Turn myself in. The Accords were a mess, sure, but they weren’t wrong about everything. We need to be kept in check. All of us. We don’t get to come back from the things we did without consequence.”

You hadn’t expected that. Not from the man who once broke half a dozen laws to make it home in time for his kid’s birthday.

“You’d really do that?” you asked quietly.

Clint nodded. “Even if the mission works. Even if they come back… I won’t get to just go back. I’m not the person they left, Y/N.”

You swallowed, his words hitting too close to home.

“They’ll still love you,” you offered, though it felt insufficient. They didn’t land with the comfort you intended. Maybe because you didn’t believe them yourself.

Because you’d been asking yourself the same question for years.

Kia had offered you peace when the world gave you nothing but silence. She saw you, even when you didn’t want to be seen. She gave you a reason to keep going.

And yet, Wanda’s absence had never stopped aching through your bones. Her memory lived beneath your skin like a scar that would never fully heal. And as much as you tried to let go, there were nights when you lay awake wondering what she’d think if she ever saw you now. If she’d understand the choices you made in her absence. The quiet, ruthless way you’d turned off parts of yourself just to survive. If Wanda came back, would she still love you? You didn’t know. And the truth of not knowing had been eating at you for longer than you were willing to admit.

“Yeah,” Clint said, almost smiling.

You nodded slowly, not sure whether to admire him or mourn him.

“I hope they see the man who kept trying,” you said softly.

Clint gave a small smile. “You too.”

He held out the mineral to return it, but you shook your head.

“Give my regards to Tony,” you said.

You reached out, clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Bring them home,” you said. “All of them.”

“I will.”

He looked down at the mineral in his hand again, and then back at you.

“Go,” Clint said. “Before you change your mind.”

You nodded, taking one last look at what remained of your past before turning away. You wouldn’t look back. Not this time.

—

You returned to Reyjavik a few days later. By then, it was all over the news—

The impossible had happened. The Avengers had done it. They brought everyone back.

Airports were flooded with reunions. There was celebration and chaos. The world was finally waking up from a nightmare. And you… you were still trying to process the fact that it worked.

The first thing you did was look for Kia. You needed to see her face, hold her hand—just know she was okay. You walked into the apartment and found it empty, cold in a way that went beyond the absence of people. Kia wasn’t waiting for you at the door.

She was sitting at the kitchen table, her back to you, shoulders rigid. Her fingers were curled tightly around a mug.

You spoke her name—soft, almost a prayer.

She turned, and that’s when you saw it. Something in her had already retreated.

“I didn’t know if you were coming back,” she said.

You shook your head, smiling faintly. “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

You hadn’t expected a joyful reunion, not with everything this victory implied. But you also didn’t expect it to feel this fragile, like tiptoeing across eggshells.

Kia looked down at her lap, and for the first time, you couldn’t read her at all. Moments later, she stood up and walked to the window.

“Maria is back,” she said. “And so is her father.”

‘Her father’, and not ‘my husband’. A deliberate choice of words. Kia talked to you often about them, but it was different now that they aren't gone.

You forced a smile. Whatever this might mean for you, some part of you was genuinely happy for her. Deeply, fiercely happy.

Because you remembered the way Kia used to trace the shape of her daughter’s photo with her fingers late at night when she thought you were asleep. You remembered how she’d spoken about her husband with reverence and regret in equal measure. The two deepest holes punched through her soul—now filled again.

“They’re back,” you said softly, like you needed to say it yourself to believe it.

She still hadn’t looked at you. “They’ve relocated to the other side of town for now. Temporarily.”

Temporarily.

A quiet warning. A gentle ending dressed up as a maybe.

You nodded, jaw clenched against the tremble that wanted to rise.

“Are you okay?” you asked, because it mattered more than anything else. Even now.

Especially now.

She turned to face you then, finally. Her eyes were raw, rimmed with exhaustion and uncertainty. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted. “You gave me a reason to keep living. You helped me breathe again. But he’s here. They’re here. And I—God, I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”

Your heart split clean down the middle, slow and silent.

You took a step back, giving her space even though you were already drowning in the distance.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” you said. “You’re allowed to not know.”

Her eyes continued to brim with tears. “This—them—none of it would be possible without you,” she prattled on.

You opened your mouth, not knowing what to say, but then she closed the distance between you.

And kissed you.

Hard. Desperate. Tasting of salt, mostly. Her hands tangled in the collar of your jacket like she was scared to let go, and for a moment, you let yourself believe.

But you felt it. The tremor in her fingers. The guilt in her kiss. How it was more of gratitude than desire.

“I love you,” she said again and again against your lips. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You closed your eyes.

Because you believed her. You really did.

But you also knew.

You had always known.

This was the last fire before the ashes. She would always carry you in her heart. She would always remember what you gave her. But you would not be the person she came home to when the dust settled.

And you would never, ever ask her to be. You wouldn’t be the one to imprison her in your arms when everything she’d ever lost had finally come back to her.

You brushed her cheek with the backs of your fingers and kissed her forehead.

“I know,” you said quietly.

She tried to hold your gaze, eyes swimming with confusion, as if she could see something in you starting to slip away. She wiped at her face, breath shaky. “What should I make for dinner?”

You smiled at her gently. “Nothing. Just relax, okay? I’ll pick something up from our favorite place.”

Kia blinked. “Are you sure?”

You nodded.

You gave her one more look, soft and grateful, then turned your back before she could see you fall apart.

And as soon as you reached the patio, your shoulders shook.

You pressed your hand to your chest to steady yourself, biting back the sound that wanted to escape your throat.

Because that kiss—her love—was real.

But it wasn’t enough.

—

You turned yourself in to the international authority a week later, after making sure everything was in place for you to disappear cleanly.

Steve handled the details—wiping your existence from every known database, scrubbing records, clearing traces. All except one. A single dossier remained, buried in Stark’s system, written by Natasha herself. Steve couldn’t bring himself to erase it. Not something she’d written. Not even if it’s something as small as a file about you.

You understood. All you asked was that he marked your status as deceased. He tried to talk you out of it, of course. That there were other ways.

But when that didn’t work, he reached for the one thing he thought might—

“You were the first person Wanda looked for,” he’d said quietly. Well, you weren’t that person from five years ago. Wanda would’ve been mistaken.

You took Clint’s place without asking his permission. He had too much to lose, and you figured you didn’t—at least not compared to him. You listed the crimes in clear, practiced detail. The missions you’d completed. The blood on your hands. The times you looked away. You took it all.

Owned it all.

Not because they were all yours—but because someone had to.

They processed you like any other criminal. Stripped you down. Tagged your belongings. Asked you questions you didn’t flinch answering.

Clint was furious when he found out. He caught up with you before the transfer. They had you in cuffs, but it was immaterial. The guards gave you both a moment, recognizing that Clint wasn’t going to be stopped by protocol. After everything, they’d grown lenient with the Avengers. Especially now, with the miracle of the return still fresh in everyone’s minds. They didn’t even understand why they were incarcerating one of them in the first place.

“What the hell are you doing?” Clint’s voice cracked, his hands fisting at his sides. “This wasn’t the plan.”

You didn’t bother correcting him. There had never really been a plan after you retrieved that mineral.

You shrugged. “Oops.”

Clint slammed his fist against the nearest wall, startling the guard by the door. “Goddammit, I was supposed to be the one—”

“Your family is waiting for you,” you told him gently. “Natasha didn’t sacrifice herself so you could just throw your life away. You know that.”

The name alone unraveled him. “And she didn’t die so you could do this, either.”

“I’m not throwing anything away. I’m making sure something good comes from all of it.”

Clint’s shoulders sagged in defeat. You saw the conflict in his eyes, the desire to talk you out of it, to remind you that Wanda would want a choice in the matter. But you had already made yours, and time felt precious then.

“I’m not just taking the fall for you, Clint,” you said softly. “I’m taking responsibility. For the things I’ve done. The choices I made. I can carry this.”

His eyes reddened, tears threatening to spill. You’d only ever seen him like this once before.

“I never wanted this,” he whispered.

“Me neither.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then he asked the one thing you’d been waiting for. “What about Wanda?”

Wanda was alive and well now. There’s no more war left to fight. You could still picture her living in the suburbs, watching her sitcoms, maybe even finding love again someday.

“Give her back everything,” you said. “The things I’ve kept. The property in New Jersey. It’s hers. She should have a home.”

“It’s going to kill her to think you’re gone.”

You exhaled slowly. “Wanda’s stronger than anyone thinks. Stronger than she thinks.”

Clint shook his head. “She’s not stronger than losing you.”

You didn’t answer. There was nothing left to say. There’s just the hollow ache of knowing you wouldn’t be there to see if your words held true. Instead, you merely asked Clint to look after her.

And when the guard finally escorted Clint out, your entire frame gave out like a deflated balloon.

You spent your first night in the cell sitting upright, hands in your lap, staring at the far wall. The fluorescent lights buzzed above you. The world outside moved on.

And inside, you stayed very still.

You had given Wanda your heart.

You had given Kia your hope.

And now, you have given away your liberty.

Somewhere, in a kinder universe, they all got to live their lives without grief. And maybe, you were there with them.

209 notes · View notes

vandme12 · 5 months ago

Note

know my creativity has no limits, mortal 🫶

Ronin x reader who is a cannibal but hid it from everyone including Ronin 🤭

WORDS :7729

PROMPT : SICKENING SWEETNESS

TRIGGER WARNING : Graphic Violence, Gore, Murder, Obsession, Manipulation, Death, Cannibal Themes, Dark Themes

CHARACTER USED : Ronin from Killer Chat!

SUMMARY : You were the sweetest person ever, How did you end up with Ronin, Maybe it takes a mess to understand a mess... Ronin walks in, when you're chewing the shiny bone.

HOW DELIGHTFULLY SWEET YOU ARE:

You're the very essence of sweetness—like a burst of sunshine and a cloud of warmth all in one. A heart dipped in honey, every word you utter feels like it’s been dusted with sugar, and your presence is as comforting as the softest blanket. You exude an undeniable charm, effortlessly weaving love and kindness into every moment. You’re a living, breathing masterpiece of warmth, kindness, and beauty, and if sweetness were a currency, you'd be the wealthiest person alive.

Someone as pure and gentle as you… it’s almost unreal that you’d end up with Ronin Beaufort. But here you are, in his world, where sweetness meets chaos. How perfectly twisted, don't you think?

Being in a relationship with Ronin? It’s something you never could’ve predicted. You walked in with the belief that he would never captivate you—how could he? His whole aura screamed danger, chaos, and unpredictability. He wasn’t the type to get under anyone’s skin. He was the one who did the damage. You were too kind, too soft, too… sweet for someone like him.

But then, little by little, something shifted. You started seeing the cracks in that devilish mask, and underneath, you found a deeper, more complicated person than anyone ever expected. His flirtations became a twisted kind of affection, his threats, strangely, a form of intimacy. And somewhere, somehow, without even realizing it, you fell into his world—his chaotic, dark, yet strangely magnetic world.

The more you fought him, the more you were drawn in. He pushed you to your limits, but in doing so, he peeled back layers of yourself you never knew existed. And when you realized it—when you understood how far you'd fallen—it was almost like a sick joke. You? Falling for someone like him?

But here you are, tangled in his grip, willingly wrapped in the chaos and the thrill of his twisted love. It’s dangerous, yes. But there’s no denying it: you wouldn’t have it any other way.

u. The table before you was set with a single plate, a fork, and a knife—neatly arranged, as if this were some normal, respectable meal. But it wasn’t.

Oh, it so wasn’t.

You sighed, staring at the piece of meat on your plate. Cooked to perfection, slightly charred at the edges, seared just enough to lock in the juices. The smell was rich, mouthwatering. You hated that part the most—the fact that it smelled good. That it tasted even better. That despite every ounce of shame that sat heavy in your chest, despite every promise you made to yourself that this is the last time, you knew deep down... it wouldn’t be.

Your fingers gripped the fork tightly, pressing the prongs into the tender flesh. You could hear it now, Ronin’s voice in your head, laughing, teasing:

"Really, sweetheart? All that sugar and spice, and this is your dirty little secret?"

No. No, no, no. He could never know.

Your serial killer friends didn’t even know. Which, honestly, was insane. They knew you were no saint, sure. You had your fun. But they all thought you were just… well, a little bloodthirsty, maybe. A sweet little thing with a bite, a killer, sure, but not like this. No one could ever know.

You sliced into the meat with practiced ease, lifting a piece to your lips, hesitating for just a moment.

This is the last time.

You popped it into your mouth.

…

Goddamn it, why was it so good?!

Your head hit the table with a dramatic thud, groaning into the wood as the taste flooded your senses. You hated this. You hated yourself for loving it. The texture, the richness, the way it melted just right on your tongue—like the best cut of steak you’d ever had. And the worst part? The worst, absolute worst part?

You knew exactly who this was.

You sat up, chewing slowly, staring at the remains on your plate.

"Sorry, Pastor Jim," you muttered around your bite. "You really should’ve stopped touching choir boys."

You stabbed another piece, eating with a little less guilt.

Because technically, you were still keeping to your moral code, right? You only went after the worst of the worst. And it’s not like you meant to start eating them! That had been an accident! A very unfortunate accident involving a freezer, a power outage, and a very poor sense of food preservation. But after that first taste? Yeah. Yeah, it became a problem.

You shoveled another bite into your mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

Ronin would never let you live this down if he found out.

Oh, he’d love the murder part—he’d practically applaud you for it. Maybe even invite you on one of his little outings. But this? This would be his golden ticket to bullying you for eternity. He’d never shut up about it. You could already hear him.

"Oh, doll, you mean to tell me all this time you’ve been lookin’ at me like a snack, you meant it literally?"

You dropped your fork and groaned again. No. Nope. That was nightmare fuel.

You reached for a napkin, dabbing your lips as if you hadn’t just committed an unforgivable sin. The plate was almost clean now, the evidence disappearing bite by bite. As much as you hated yourself for it, at least it was practical. Waste not, want not, right?

Still. You needed to get out of this habit before you really fucked up. You’d been careful, so insanely careful, but all it took was one slip-up, one little mistake, and suddenly you’d go from ‘mysterious and deadly’ to ‘literal horror movie monster.’

You sighed, pushing your plate away, feeling full but entirely unsatisfied. The guilt was still there, coiling like a snake in your gut, whispering, This isn’t normal. You’re a freak.

Like that was news.

You stood, stretching, rolling out your shoulders as you walked over to the fridge. Opening it, you took a moment to survey the contents, lips pursing. You had normal food in there. You could just eat normal food. Maybe. Probably.

You shut the fridge.

Later problem.

For now, you needed to clean up and make sure no one ever found out about this.

And, more importantly, make sure Ronin never, ever found out.

Because one thing was certain: if he did…

You would never hear the end of it.

The clock read 2:47 AM. The server was quiet—everyone else had gone to sleep, the usual chatter of chaos and mayhem dying down for the night. Well, almost everyone.

One handle still glowed in the dark.

Goreboy.

You smirked, clicking on the voice chat. The moment it connected, his voice came through, low and lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

"Hey, what’s up, darlin’? Can’t sleep? Or just missed my face too much?"

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. "It’s just… missing. And both."

He chuckled, the kind of sound that dripped with amusement, but also a little bit of something else—something that made your stomach twist in ways you weren’t ready to admit.

"So, what’d you wanna ask me for?"

You blinked. "For…?"

A dramatic sigh from the other end. "Idiot. Valentine’s."

Oh. Right. Last year had been a disaster. Mostly because he thought it’d be funny to leave you a gift-wrapped corpse—freshly skinned, because of course he’d go the extra mile. It had ended in a chase, a near-stabbing, and an impromptu rooftop knife fight that nearly landed both of you in jail.

Ah, memories.

But this year, you had both agreed—no killing each other for Valentine’s.

Which meant you had to get him something.

"So," you started, tapping your fingers on the desk, "what do you want?"

Ronin’s face—well, his emoji reaction—popped up on the server. A middle finger.

"Why would you ask for a goddamn gift?" he grumbled. "You’re supposed to surprise your lover. That’s, like, the whole point, sweetheart."

You huffed. "And yet, last year, I got a literal human hide on my doorstep."

"I thought it was romantic."

"You thought wrong."

A pause. Then, a laugh. "Fine. Flowers. That’ll do."

You blinked. "Flowers? Like… lilies or something?"

"Sure. Whatever. I’m not picky."

"Okay!" you chirped.

And for a second, just a second, there was silence. Something rare when it came to Ronin.

Then, in a tone so casual it made your blood run cold—"Midnight snack?"

Your heart stopped.

You sat up straight. "What?"

"You been eating, sweetheart? Kinda weird, this late at night. But, uh, mostly just wondering ‘cause you got ketchup on the end of your lips."*

…Oh.

OH.

Your hand shot up to your mouth, wiping at the corner.

You looked at your fingers.

That was not ketchup.

You shot up from your chair. "I’ll be right back!"

You rushed to the bathroom, practically tripping over your own feet as you scrambled to wash your hands. The blood—not ketchup—clung to your fingers, vivid and fresh. You were quick, but not quick enough to forget that Ronin had seen it.

Your heart hammered in your chest, and for a moment, you froze, staring at the sink, the sound of running water filling the silence. It was too close—the slip-up, the small hint of a mistake that could unravel everything. The last thing you wanted was for him to know.

He didn’t notice. He didn’t notice. He’s too busy being an idiot to notice.

You scrubbed your hands furiously, trying to erase any trace of it, the red staining the water swirling down the drain, just like the thoughts in your head. It’s fine. You’ve done worse.

You wiped your hands on a towel, your mind racing. He hadn’t called you out on it. Yet. And it wasn’t like he needed to know, right? Please, don't notice.

You shook your head, trying to brush off the paranoia creeping in. Of course, he'd notice. Ronin noticed everything.

But for now, you were in the clear.

You took a deep breath, checking your reflection in the mirror, making sure you didn’t look too guilty. You ran your tongue over your lips, still tasting the remnants of that awful little snack.

It was weird, you thought. You hated it, but also? It was surprisingly good.

You turned on your heel, heading back to the computer with a forced smile on your face, your pulse still thrumming in your ears.

"Everything okay, darling?" Ronin's voice came through, smooth and teasing, as if he hadn’t even noticed your brief disappearance.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m fine," you said, trying to act casual, even as your mind screamed at you.

"Mm. Good." His voice held that strange amusement, as if he was watching you. "Better not be hiding anything, sweetheart."

Both of you were uncharacteristically still—something had shifted, some unspoken tension that made everything feel… off.

Ronin’s voice had been teasing at first, but now, as the minutes passed, it felt like he was holding something back. And then, the blush hit. You weren’t sure if it was him or you who started it first, but it was unmistakable. His voice took on an almost shy edge when he spoke again.

"Kay… Better not let you be a not sleeper this time," he said, the words almost careful as if testing the waters. "That time your fucking manager almost made you... frickin’ not sleeper. We wouldn’t want that, right?"

You let out a soft chuckle, but even you knew it was a little too nervous. The memory of that incident was still too fresh—the way you’d almost been pushed to the edge by that workaholic manager, the constant pressure, the stress. It had taken everything in you to keep functioning, but Ronin’s comment seemed to shift the mood, the tension, and for a moment, your walls cracked.

"Yeah..." you said, your voice soft, almost a whisper. "But I wouldn’t mind speaking to you. You know? Speaking to you is enough."

You didn’t even know why you said it, why it felt so vulnerable all of a sudden, but there it was. You were falling deeper, and you couldn’t help it.

"Hah… I’m really a hopeless romantic, huh?" You sighed, the weight of your own words settling in. You hated how much you were giving away with every little thing you said, every little action. But somehow, with Ronin, it didn’t feel like weakness. It felt like… something else.

"Well, hit me up," Ronin’s voice came through again, but this time, it was softer—an almost teasing undercurrent that made your heart flutter. "We could spend Valentine’s at mine… or yours. Or hell, that alleyway we ran into each other in last time."

You flushed, unable to control the heat that rushed to your cheeks at the thought. The alleyway was a place you’d never forget—the smell of blood in the air, the thrill of the chase, the way everything had felt so… alive.

"I—I don’t know about the alleyway," you stammered, feeling the tips of your ears burn. "But, sure, we could… we could do something like that. I’m not picky."

Another laugh, low and dangerous. "Yeah, you’re always the one who’s not picky, huh?"

And then you heard it. The sound of him clearing his throat. Was he blushing, too?

"You’re really going to make me lose my shit over this, huh?"

You bit your lip to suppress a smile, but you couldn’t help it. Ronin was a lot of things—volatile, unpredictable, dark—but he was also fun. And somehow, against your better judgment, you liked that. You liked the dangerous little dance you two played.

"But," he continued, his voice now tinged with something almost sweet, "I don’t want to sleep deprive you again."

Your heart fluttered at the way he phrased it. Sleep deprivation… was that his way of caring? Of worrying about you? Or was it just his twisted way of showing affection? You couldn’t tell anymore.

You tilted your head, staring at the screen. The words you wanted to say got caught in your throat. Does he care, or is this all just part of the game?

"Well, I do have to work," you said, shifting uncomfortably in your chair, the weight of it all sinking in. "Manager said there’s more writing to do."

Ronin’s voice changed in an instant. You could hear the frustration, the tension rising as he cursed under his breath. "What the fuck? More writing? Are they insane?" He sounded genuinely pissed now, and it wasn’t the playful anger you were used to—it was something more serious.

You winced. "Yeah, I know. It’s a lot."

"Fucking hell," he growled, a rare tone of annoyance seeping into his voice. "You need a break. Don’t let them fucking work you to death. What are they thinking, pushing you like that?"

You chuckled nervously, trying to mask the heaviness that weighed on you. "It’s fine. I can handle it."

But Ronin wasn’t having it. "No, you can’t. Fuck that." The silence that followed felt almost too loud. "Do whatever you want, but don’t overwork yourself. I swear to God, if you doom yourself like.."

Your breath hitched.

"Ronin…" you whispered, barely audible. "I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me."

There was a long, heavy pause. Then, with a sigh, Ronin muttered under his breath, "I don’t want to hear about it if you end up like that. You hear me?"

You bit your lip, your eyes stinging. He wasn’t just angry anymore; he was worried. Maybe even protective. And you were terrified that you might like it.

"I hear you," you said softly, but it wasn’t enough.

You glanced at the clock. Valentine’s was approaching. And you? You had a lot of thinking to do.

The call ended abruptly, but you were still left staring at your screen for a few moments, lingering in the silence that filled the room. You hadn’t expected Ronin to hang up so soon, but maybe he wasn’t one for goodbyes. After all, when it came to Ronin, it was always about the moment rather than anything after.

Just as you were about to put your phone down, your screen flashed with a new message.

Goreboy: "Why not stay on the call until you fall asleep?"

Your lips curled into a smile as you quickly typed a reply. "I don't want you to worry." You meant it, but there was always a part of you that liked the idea of him sticking around, even if he didn’t seem to care about you quite the way you cared about him.

The response came almost instantly.

Goreboy: "I’m not worried, sweetheart. You’re just a rotten saint, too good for your own shit."

You chuckled at that. "Rotten saint, huh? Sounds about right." You sat back in your chair, feeling the comfort of the familiar exchange. Something about him being around always made the long hours of work seem more bearable. It was easy to get lost in the chaos of his teasing, and his dark sense of humor made the night seem... lighter.

You: "Well, I’d like that. Let’s do it then."

And so, you returned to typing, the soft clack of your keyboard the only sound between you and the quiet hum of the night. He didn’t say much at first, but you could hear the occasional rustle on his end, the shift of his posture or the sound of him stretching. You couldn’t see him, but you could almost picture it.

You laughed at something funny in the book, your fingers moving almost too quickly to keep up. You two chatted about anything and everything—his usual dark humor, your frustrations with the latest writing assignment. Every now and then, you’d get caught up in a tangent, bantering back and forth until the conversation felt easy and natural, like the two of you weren’t constantly circling each other in some game neither could win.

As the hours passed, the yawns began.

You felt a wave of exhaustion crashing over you. Your eyes drooped, your head growing heavy, but you fought it—if only for a little longer. It was nice, being able to laugh with him, to share the quiet moments that didn’t need words.

But as the minutes ticked by, it was clear your body wasn’t going to listen. Your words became slower, your typing more erratic, and before long, the yawns became impossible to hide.

"Shit…" you muttered, rubbing your eyes. "I think I’m falling asleep."

You heard Ronin’s voice through the speaker, low and almost playful. "You sure you’re not just bored of me already?"

You chuckled softly. "No... just tired, I guess."

There was another pause, but you could hear him shift in his seat, the slight rasp of his breath as he yawned, too.

"Yeah… I’m getting there too," he said, the words thick with exhaustion. "Guess you’ll have to deal with me being sleepy now. How’s that for fun?"

You smiled, your head sinking into your pillow. "It’s fine," you murmured, your voice soft, nearly a whisper. "I don’t mind."

He let out a quiet huff, but it was different from the usual playful smirk. It sounded… gentler, more like he was actually considering something, his usual sarcasm dulled by the exhaustion that hung heavy in his voice.

And then, just as you were slipping further into that comfortable, drowsy haze, you heard him sigh.

"It’s not that healthy," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "At least you're asleep now."

You barely registered the words before they faded into nothing, your eyes closing.

"Good night," he whispered softly, his voice low, almost tender in its quiet warmth.

You wanted to say something, to reply, but the words died on your lips as sleep finally claimed you, the exhaustion sweeping you away before you could even react.

The last thing you heard was the sound of Ronin’s breath on the other end of the line, as if he, too, had surrendered to the pull of sleep.

"Good night, sweetheart," he repeated, and then the call ended.

This is the last time, He talked with you. At least you didn't come online, Angel told him to check up on you before she uses her gun.

Your house was quiet. Peaceful, even.

Well, except for the fact that you were currently sitting on the kitchen floor, absentmindedly chewing on a cooked leg.

Not your leg, of course. That would be ridiculous. No, it belonged to your now ex-manager, who was currently in several pieces scattered across your apartment. You hadn’t planned on killing him, but he just wouldn’t shut up about your deadlines, your workload, how you weren’t being "grateful enough" for all the opportunities he gave you. He’d pushed you, and pushed you—until you pushed back.

And now? Now he was dinner.

You sighed, poking at a plate of slightly undercooked meat with a fork. You’d always hated this part of yourself, the part that craved something you shouldn’t. It was disgusting. It was wrong. And yet, the taste... well. You weren’t about to lie to yourself.

You took another bite.

And that was exactly when Ronin kicked open your front door.

"What the fu—"

You froze mid-bite, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. Ronin, meanwhile, was standing in your doorway, expression torn between disbelief and absolute amusement. He scanned the scene before him—blood smeared across the floor, the half-butchered body slumped over the couch, you sitting there like a guilty puppy with a mouth full of human flesh.

You swallowed slowly. "...I can explain."

Ronin blinked. "Can you?"

You considered your options. "No."

A beat of silence.

Then, he cackled. Not just a chuckle, but a full-on, throw-your-head-back kind of laugh. "Holy shit," he gasped between laughs. "*I thought you were just some cute little killer, but this? This is—Oh my fucking God!"

"Listen!" you said, standing up and wiping your mouth as if that would somehow erase the crime. "It’s—okay, it’s exactly what it looks like, but—"

"YOU’RE A FUCKING CANNIBAL!" he howled, doubling over, hands on his knees. "Oh, this is the best thing I’ve ever seen. Fuck Valentine’s Day, this is my real gift!"

You scowled, crossing your arms. "You don’t have to be so loud about it."

"*Are you kidding? This is hilarious!" He wiped a fake tear from his eye. "Angel thought you were dead, and instead, you’re in here having a romantic dinner for one with your goddamn manager! Jesus, sweetheart, you could’ve told me you had a taste for this kind of thing."

You huffed. "Because you’d react so well?"

"*I’m reacting great!" he gestured wildly at the room. "This is the best fucking plot twist of my life! You’ve been holding out on me!"

You muttered under your breath, "I hate being like this."

Ronin grinned, stepping closer, his boots splashing in a puddle of blood. "But you still do it."

You didn’t answer. You just turned away, rubbing your temple. "Are you going to tell Angel?"

"Oh, absolutely," he said without hesitation.

"Ronin."

"Okay, fine," he smirked. "I won’t. But only because I wanna see how long it takes her to figure it out on her own. Could be fun!*"

You groaned, sinking back into a chair. "I can’t believe this is happening."

"*I can." He sat on the counter, kicking his legs like a child. "So, what’s the verdict? Tastes good?"

You stared at him for a long moment before muttering, "...Yeah."

Ronin was still laughing. How was he still laughing?

He was clutching his stomach, cackling like you’d just told him the funniest joke in the world instead of, you know, revealing that you were a literal serial cannibal.

"Angel is going to love this," he wheezed, wiping at his eyes. "I mean, fuck, I thought you were just some adorable little killer, but this? Oh, sweetheart, this is—this is something special."

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the blood-smeared counter. "Yeah, well, keep it to yourself," you muttered. "She’d have a heart attack if she knew."

"Oh, absolutely," he grinned, still catching his breath. "Which is exactly why I’m tempted to tell her."

"Ronin."

"Relax, relax," he smirked, waving a hand. "I won’t. But I will be thinking about it. Every time she nags me, I’m gonna remember that you are out here making gourmet fucking human dinners, and it’s gonna make my entire week."

You exhaled, dragging a hand down your face. "God, why did I let you into my house?"

"Because you secretly love my company," he said smugly, hopping off the counter. "Now, c’mon, you said you needed to clean up, right? Let’s do it."

"Wait," you smirked, a sudden idea sparking in your mind. "Actually, I was thinking… you could help me cook instead."

His laughter stopped. He blinked at you. Then his lips curled into a wild grin. "You are so fucked up, and I am so in love with that."

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at that. "So that’s a yes?"

"*That’s a *fuck yes.**"

Midnight Cooking Show: Cannibal Edition

The two of you stood over the kitchen counter, your manager’s remains laid out in a disturbingly organized manner. You had spent the last few minutes separating the best cuts, while Ronin was busy washing the parts that were, in his words, "too chewy for my taste, but hey, I’m not the one eating this sick shit."

"So, what’s the dish, Chef?" he grinned, leaning against the sink. "Please tell me we’re making something fancy. Like, I dunno, some five-star shit. Let’s turn this asshole into a delicacy."

You smirked, grabbing a knife. "Ever had Char Siu?"

Ronin’s eyebrows shot up. "Are you fucking kidding? That’s, like, the best thing ever. That sweet, sticky, roasted pork shit? That?"

You grinned wider. "That. Except, well… pork’s off the menu.*"

Ronin howled with laughter. "You’re insane. I love it. Let’s do it."

Cooking Instructions (as narrated by you and Ronin, because he wouldn’t shut up)

Step One: Choosing the Meat

"Alright, we’re looking for the tender stuff, right?" you said, eyeing the cuts. "Something fatty but not too fatty."

Ronin tilted his head, considering. "I feel like an asshole saying this, but our dear ex-manager here was kinda scrawny. Might be a bit tough."

"That’s what marinating is for," you hummed, grabbing a particularly meaty thigh. "This should work."

"God, I’m never looking at a butcher shop the same way again," Ronin snorted. "This is so fucked up and I am having the best time."

Step Two: The Marinade

"Alright," you said, pulling out the ingredients. "We’re gonna need honey, hoisin sauce, soy sauce, Chinese five-spice, Shaoxing wine, oyster sauce—"

"Okay, okay, wait a goddamn second," Ronin interrupted, pointing at you. "Are you telling me that your cannibal ass just had all this on hand? Like, you were prepared to make human Char Siu?"

You blinked. "I like cooking."

He doubled over. "Holy fuck, I can’t— You’re out here casually prepping for gourmet murder meals, and you want me to believe you’re ashamed of being a cannibal? Sweetheart, you are BUILT for this."

You huffed, shoving a bowl into his hands. "Shut up and mix the marinade."

"With pleasure."

Step Three: Marinate the Meat

Ronin watched as you coated the leg meat in the thick, dark-red sauce, the sweet-smoky aroma filling the kitchen.

"You know," he mused, propping his chin on his hand, "I’ve seen some fucked up shit. But watching you massage sauce into a man’s thigh like it’s a goddamn steak might just be my new favorite memory."

"I hate you," you said, completely void of heat.

"You love me," he grinned.

You ignored the way your face burned. "It needs to marinate for a few hours," you said instead. "Overnight would be best, but I doubt we have that kind of time."

"Booooo," he pouted. "Fine, what’s next?"

Step Four: Roasting

You slid the marinated human flesh onto a roasting rack, setting the oven to the perfect temperature.

Ronin leaned against the counter, watching you with too much amusement. "So, uh, just wondering…"

"What?" you asked without looking up.

"When do I get a taste?"

You froze. Then, slowly, you turned to him, smile too sharp. "You don’t."

His grin faltered. "…Huh?"

"You’re not eating this."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I said so." You leaned in slightly. "You’re mine, Ronin. I don’t share my food, and I don’t eat the things I like."

For the first time tonight, he was the one caught off guard. His smirk flickered, eyes scanning your face, looking for… something.

Then, he grinned. A slow, dangerous thing. "Oh, sweetheart." His voice was lower, sweeter. "That was the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me."

You rolled your eyes. "Just go set the table."

Dinner for One (Plus One Obsessed Serial Killer Boyfriend Watching You Eat)

The aroma that filled the kitchen was heavenly. The glazed, caramelized crust of the human-Char-Siu gleamed under the kitchen light, a perfect blend of smoky, sweet, and savory.

Ronin watched intensely as you took your first bite, his chin resting on his hands.

"Well?" he smirked. "How’s our dear ex-manager tasting?"

You chewed slowly, savoring the rich, perfectly seasoned meat. After a moment, you swallowed, licking your lips. "Mmmm… tender. The marinade really helped."

Ronin whistled. "Damn. Maybe I should take up cooking."

"You can help clean instead."

"Ew, no. That’s boring."

"Then sit there and shut up."

"Aye-aye, Captain Cannibal."

He grinned as you continued eating, watching you with something intense, fascinated, and a little dangerous.

And you?

You chewed, swallowed, and pretended you weren’t thinking about how Ronin would taste.

"You know, you look cute like that," Ronin murmured, propping his chin on his palm as he watched you scrape off the last bits of blood from the counter. "White clothes were a bold choice, though. Now you look like a bloodied lily."

You paused, glancing down at yourself. Your white button-up, once pristine, was now splattered with deep crimson. You were drenched in it—smudged across your sleeves, streaked along your cheek, staining your collar.

"Cute," you echoed dryly. "I look like a crime scene."

Ronin grinned. "Yeah. But a pretty one."

You sighed, tossing a rag at him. "Shut up and help me clean, lover boy."

He caught it easily but made no move to help. Instead, his grin widened, his eyes dark with amusement. "You know," he drawled, "since Valentine’s Day is coming up, I’ve been thinking…"

You raised an eyebrow, still scrubbing the floor. "Thinking about what?"

"Your gift."

That made you pause. You turned to him slowly. "Ronin."

"What?" He was way too smug.

"If this is a cannibal joke—"

"Oh, it absolutely is."

"Ronin."

He laughed, finally pushing himself off the counter. "Relax, sweetheart. No human meat in your chocolates. Probably."

"Probably?"

"No promises."

You groaned, turning back to your cleaning. "I swear to God, if I find even a hint of flesh in whatever you get me—"

"Then you’ll love me anyway, because you already do," he finished smoothly, flashing you that damn grin.

You scowled at him, pointedly ignoring the heat in your face. "What’s the actual gift, then?"

He hummed, tilting his head as if considering it. Then, suddenly, his gaze shifted. Lowered. Darkened.

And then he smiled.

Not his usual cocky, playful smirk.

Something softer. Deeper. Dangerous in a way that made your heart skip.

"I already saw my gift," he murmured.

You blinked. "…What?"

He didn’t elaborate. He just kept looking at you, as if you had already given him something he wasn’t willing to name.

You opened your mouth, about to demand an explanation, but he had already turned away, grabbing a sponge.

"C’mon, let’s finish cleaning up," he said casually, as if he hadn’t just dropped something on you and walked away.

You frowned, staring at him for a few seconds longer. But he didn’t look back.

You exhaled, shaking your head.

Fine.

You’d let it go. For now.

Valentine’s Day. The day of romance, devotion, and in your case—waiting in a corpse-themed purgatory for your unhinged serial killer boyfriend.

Because of course you were.

You weren’t in some cute little café, or at a fancy dinner with overpriced wine. No. You were sitting on an overturned crate in Ronin’s personal murder studio, a dingy, bloodstained alleyway that smelled like iron and bad decisions. A place where the pavement was practically screaming for an exorcism.

Romantic, right?

You sighed, adjusting the heart-shaped box in your hands. Inside was a batch of apple crumble chocolates, apple crumble brownies, and an apple crumble cheesecake, because Ronin—annoyingly—had mentioned once that he liked apple crumble ice cream, and your dumb, smitten heart had latched onto that information like a leech.

You glanced around at your surroundings, unimpressed.

A "Happy Valentine’s Day" banner would’ve really brightened this place up. Maybe some candles. Or bleach. Yeah. A lot of bleach.

But honestly, what the hell else did you expect? Candlelit dinners weren’t exactly Ronin’s vibe—unless the candles were being used to torture someone.

Still, you sighed. He was late. Typical.

You kicked a stray piece of… something. Meat. Maybe. You weren’t going to check.

Waiting here was a mistake.

Ten Ways Ronin Had Annoyed You This Week: He kept making cannibal jokes. Every damn conversation. No escape. Called you "Gourmet Hannibal" like it was a fucking title. Asked if your favorite song was “Eat Me Alive” by Judas Priest. Claimed he was “checking his fingers just in case” whenever you looked at his hands too long. Said, “I’m a snack, but not like that,” at least five times. Every time you ate, he dramatically recoiled like you were about to rip his throat out. You bit into a steak, and he muttered, “Damn, there goes another one.” Started calling you “Tooth Fairy” because you had “a weirdly specific taste.” When you asked him to drop it, he said, “You first.” Brought you an actual human tooth in a jewelry box and asked if that was a ‘romantic gesture’ or a ‘fucking problem.’ (It was both.) (And Angel suggested him this. It takes a cannibal to fucking know another)

And despite all of that, you were still standing here. With chocolates.

God, you were down bad.

Instead, all you got were a few ominous puddles, some suspicious stains, and a crowbar leaning against the wall like it was waiting for its next victim. So romantic.

You checked the time on your phone. Ronin was late.

Oh, what, was he busy? Did he have better things to do on Valentine’s Day than see you? What, was he murdering someone else?

Cheating bastard.

You huffed and crossed your arms, scowling at the empty alleyway.

And then, because you were bored, you started making up excuses for him.

Maybe he was picking flowers. You doubted it. Last time someone handed him a bouquet, he used it to smother a guy.

Maybe he got distracted by something shiny. Likely. Ronin had the attention span of a caffeinated raccoon.

Maybe he got arrested. Again.

Maybe he was actually planning something really sweet and elaborate for you. HA. Yeah, no.

Maybe he was testing you to see if you’d get impatient and kill someone while waiting. Classic Ronin move.

You kicked a stray pebble, sighing dramatically. He was taking forever.

At this point, you were tempted to start leaving cryptic messages in blood just to pass the time. Maybe something poetic. Something that would make future detectives stare at the crime scene and go "What the hell does this mean?"

Maybe something simple, like:

"Men will literally commit murder instead of going to therapy."

Or, if you were feeling extra dramatic:

"My Valentine is LATE and I’m NOT MAD but if I WAS, there would be CONSEQUENCES."

You pulled out your phone and considered texting him something passive-aggressive, just to be a menace.

Maybe: "Are you cheating on me with your victims? :("

Or: "I swear to God, if you stood me up, I’m eating all this chocolate myself and then killing you for making me eat that much sugar."

Or, if you wanted to really get under his skin:

"Hey, I’m just gonna leave this box of sweets here, okay? Hope some random guy enjoys them! :D"

That one would definitely get a reaction.

You smirked to yourself, already typing.

But before you could hit send—

A voice drawled from behind you.

"Damn, sweetheart. You look so cute when you’re plotting."

You startled, whipping around.

And there he was.

Ronin Beaufort, in all his smug, late-ass glory, grinning at you like he hadn’t just made you sit in a bloodstained alleyway for an HOUR.

You narrowed your eyes. "You’re late."

"Fashionably."

"You don’t even have a watch."

"Exactly."

You huffed, shoving the box of chocolates into his hands. "Here. Happy Valentine’s, you menace."

His brows lifted slightly in surprise before he smirked. "A gift? For me? You shouldn’t have."

"I really shouldn’t have."

He snorted and popped open the box, blinking at the sheer excessive amount of apple crumble-themed sweets inside.

Then he looked at you.

Then back at the chocolates.

Then back at you.

And then—

The bastard laughed.

Like, full-on cackled.

"Oh, you’re OBSESSED with me," he teased, grinning like the absolute menace he was. "Damn, sweetheart, this is embarrassing for you."

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up and eat."

"You love me SO much it’s ridiculous."

"Ronin."

"Like, imagine being this whipped—"

"RONIN."

"I feel so flattered—"

"RONIN, JUST EAT THE DAMN CHOCOLATES."

He snickered but finally picked one up, popping it into his mouth.

And then—

He froze.

You smirked. "Good?"

He chewed slowly, his expression unreadable.

Then he swallowed and looked at you.

And for once, Ronin was speechless.

You grinned. "Told you I was good at baking."

He blinked. "Sweetheart, I don’t know if I wanna kiss you or kill you right now."

"Romantic."

"No, seriously, what the hell?" He grabbed another one, taking a bigger bite. "Why is this actually amazing?"

"Because I have actual skills, unlike you."

"Wow. Bold of you to disrespect my artistic talent."

"Beating a guy to death with a crowbar is not artistic talent."

"SAYS YOU."

You laughed, shaking your head.

For a brief moment, there was silence.

Then, much softer, Ronin spoke. "Thanks, sweetheart. Really."

You blinked at him.

And there it was again.

That look.

That look he gave you sometimes, when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

The one that was too soft for him, too raw. The one that made your chest tighten and your stomach flip.

You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling way too warm. "Yeah, yeah. Happy Valentine’s, loser."

Ronin grinned. "Happy Valentine’s, darling."

And, with zero warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

Oh.

OH.

Your brain short-circuited.

But you barely had a second to process it before he pulled away, smug as hell, licking a bit of apple crumble chocolate off his lips.

"Mmm. Sweet," he murmured, shooting you a wink.

And then, just to be a menace, he added—

"Kinda tastes like human flesh, though."

You smacked his arm. "RONIN!"

He cackled.

Valentine’s Day. A day of love, romance, and— apparently—receiving an actual human heart in a goddamn box.

You blinked down at it, tilting your head like a curious little puppy.

It was fresh. Still glistening. Still warm. Nestled inside a bed of black tissue paper, a stark contrast to the pale pink ribbon tied around the lid. There was a letter tucked neatly inside, pressed against the inner lining.

You didn’t open it. Not yet.

Instead, you just… stared at the heart.

And then you smiled.

Because oh—oh, this was so cute.

Your face practically lit up, your eyes shimmering with the kind of sickeningly sweet delight that could rot an entire dentist’s career. You clasped your hands together, a lovestruck little sigh slipping from your lips.

And then—

You picked up the heart.

With your bare hands.

And gently, lovingly, sweetly held it to your cheek.

Like a cherished stuffed animal.

Like it was the cutest thing anyone had ever given you.

Because to you—it was.

Your voice practically dripped with saccharine delight. "Ohhh, Ronin… you SHOULDN’T HAVE!"

Ronin, who was leaning oh-so-casually against the alley wall, just grinned. Like the absolute menace he was. "You like it, sweetheart?"

"LIKE it?" You gasped, offended by his lack of confidence in his own romantic gesture. "Ronin, I LOVE it."

You nuzzled the heart slightly, sighing in contentment.

Like it wasn’t a literal organ from a probably-still-warm corpse.

Like this was a plushie and not something that had been inside a human being ten minutes ago.

"You’re so thoughtful!" you cooed, holding the heart up like it was the most precious thing in the world. "Oh my God, my boyfriend is so romantic. He literally got me a heart for Valentine’s! What a sweetheart!"

Ronin cackled, "Sweetheart, you’re actually insane."

"Says the guy who just gave me a heart in a box," you shot back, giving him an adorably scolding little pout.

He snorted. "Okay, yeah, fair. But I mean… well, I thought you might appreciate it more than flowers.*"

"You THOUGHT RIGHT!"

You cradled the heart in your hands, your expression practically glowing with love and adoration.

Like someone had just gifted you the rarest diamond in existence.

Like you weren’t holding a fresh, dripping, human organ.

Ronin watched you, his eyes dancing with amusement.

He had expected a reaction.

Shock. Maybe a flustered little squeak. Possibly even an affectionate slap to the arm.

But this?

This was…

So. Much. Better.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re seriously hugging a heart right now."

"Because it’s sweet, Ronin! It’s so SWEET!" you insisted, gushing over it like a lovestruck schoolgirl. "You gave me something that symbolizes love in the most LITERAL way possible! It’s like saying ‘I love you with all my heart’—but PHYSICALLY! That’s so poetic!"

Ronin just stared at you, grinning like a lunatic. "You’re so damn cute, it’s ridiculous."

You beamed at him. "I KNOW!"

And then, like the sickeningly sweet thing you were, you held the heart close to your chest and sighed. "This is the best Valentine’s Day ever."

Ronin just laughed.

Because of COURSE this was your reaction.

Of course you, his hopelessly adorable, sickeningly sweet, horror movie protagonist of a lover, would treat a bloody human heart like it was a goddamn teddy bear.

HEARTFELT!

God. He was so obsessed with you.

You tilted your head, blinking up at him. "So? Where did you get it?"

Ronin raised an eyebrow, smirking. "What, you wanna know the sourcing? What are you, a food critic?*"

"I mean, a good gift comes with a story!" You twirled a strand of hair around your finger, genuinely eager. "Like, did you rip it out yourself? Was it a special kill? Was it from someone annoying? Is this a love rival’s heart? Did you monologue before taking it out? C’mon, tell meee!"

Ronin grinned. "Damn, sweetheart, you wanna know all the gory details?"

"Of course!"

"You’re adorable."

"I KNOW!"

Ronin laughed again, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, alright. If you MUST know—"

Before he could continue, your eyes sparkled as a thought hit you.

You gasped, clutching the heart tighter. "Oh my God—"

Ronin blinked. "What?"

Your entire face lit up. "I should PRESERVE it!"

Ronin… stared. "I’m sorry, what?"

"OHMYGOD, IT’LL BE LIKE A SENTIMENTAL KEEPSAKE!"

You spun around, practically twirling in excitement. "I can keep it in a jar! Oh! Or taxidermy it into a cute little display piece! Maybe put it in resin! OR! OR! I could make it into a necklace—"

"*SWEETHEART.**"

You whipped back around. "YES?"

Ronin was wheezing. "You are SO—" He choked on his own laughter, running a hand down his face. "I fucking LOVE you."

You giggled, hugging the heart closer. "I KNOW!"

Ronin shook his head, still grinning. "Damn. You really just accepted a human organ like it was a bouquet of roses."

"BETTER than roses!" you chirped. "Flowers wilt, but this? This is LOVE. This is COMMITMENT."

Ronin chuckled, watching you with that ridiculous fondness in his gaze. "You’re actually insane."

"I PREFER ADORABLY ECCENTRIC!"

"You’re both."

You grinned. "I KNOW!"

Ronin sighed, still grinning, before nodding towards the box. "You gonna read the letter, or just keep caressing the damn thing?"

Your eyes widened. "OH RIGHT, THE LETTER!"

You gently (and very reluctantly) set the heart back inside the box before snatching up the envelope.

It was sealed with red wax.

You gasped. "OHMYGOD, YOU SEALED IT WITH WAX?"

Ronin smirked. "Had to be fancy for my girl."

Your soul practically ascended. "OHMYGOD, YOU’RE SO ROMANTIC, WHAT THE HELL!"

Ronin snorted. "Open it already, sweetheart."

You ripped it open.

Inside was his messy, unmistakable handwriting.

It read:

Sweetheart, You’re probably grinning like a maniac right now, and if you’re not, I’ll be disappointed. Just so we’re clear: this was not easy to get. The bastard screamed a lot. He was annoying. So I made sure to take my time. But I figured—if I’m giving my heart to anyone, it’s you. Unfortunately, my heart is still in my chest (for now), so you’ll have to settle for this one instead. Happy Valentine’s Day, darling. —R.

Your stomach flipped.

Your heart melted.

And then—

You clutched the letter to your chest.

And let out the most lovesick, disgustingly sweet sigh in existence.

Ronin smirked. "Lemme guess. You love it."

You spun towards him, eyes SPARKLING. "I AM GOING TO MARRY YOU."

Ronin snorted. "Oh? Are you proposing?"

"I MIGHT!"

Ronin cackled. "Damn, sweetheart. Didn’t know a human heart was all it took to make you lose your mind over me."

"RONIN, I ALREADY LOST MY MIND OVER YOU MONTHS AGO."

"That’s fair."

You beamed. "Best Valentine’s Day EVER!"

And Ronin?

He just grinned.

Because really—

Who else but you could make being a serial killer this goddamn romantic?

You held the heart to your chest, rocking slightly on your heels like a child hugging their favorite plushie. But this wasn’t a plushie. This was Herny.

Yes. Herny.

"I’m gonna name him Herny!" you announced cheerfully.

Ronin blinked. "I’m sorry. What?"

You beamed up at him, all sickening sweetness and innocent delight. "The heart! Herny! It feels right, doesn’t it?" You tilted your head, gently patting the still-warm, blood-slick organ. "Herny the heart. He deserves a name. It’s what he would’ve wanted."

Ronin stared. Then, he grinned. "You’re actually insane."

"I PREFER ADORABLY ECCENTRIC!" you chirped, smearing a little more blood across your cheek.

Ronin just snorted, rubbing his temple. "Yeah, yeah, sure. Alright. Herny it is. So what’s the plan, sweetheart? You keeping him as a pet or something?"

You clasped your hands together. "Oh no, I’m gonna COOK him!"

Ronin choked. "I—what?"

"COOKING, Ronin! It’s an art! I have to do Herny justice! We have to send him off with STYLE!"

You spun around, your blood-streaked hands gesturing with dramatic flair. "Oh! Maybe braised in a red wine reduction? Or slow-roasted with garlic and rosemary? Or—OHH! CANTONESE STYLE!"

Ronin was wheezing. "You’re actually considering recipes right now?"

"OF COURSE!" You turned to him, eyes wide with mock betrayal. "I can’t just EAT Herny raw! That would be barbaric!"

Ronin just laughed. "You do realize you’re still a sweet little cannibal, right?"

"Sweetness is a STATE OF BEING!" you shot back, twirling a bloody strand of hair between your fingers. "One can be both elegant and a devourer of flesh!"

Ronin smirked, amused as hell. "You’re really about to start Gordon Ramsay-ing a dude’s heart, huh?"

"RONIN." You clapped your hands (which, again, were covered in blood). "I take my cooking VERY seriously."

A wet slap of blood hit your own face.

You blinked.

Looked at your hands.

Then at Ronin.

Then back at your hands.

And then—you started laughing.

Ronin watched you, his smirk softening slightly.

God. You were actually fucking adorable.

Here you were, covered in blood, cradling a human heart like a goddamn treasure, talking about cooking it like a five-star meal, and STILL, you managed to be the sweetest thing he’d ever seen.

Like a twisted little doll, dipped in crimson, giggling in the middle of an alleyway littered with corpses.

He was obsessed.

And then—you kissed him.

Without warning.

Without hesitation.

You grabbed his collar, pulled him down, and kissed him—deep and desperate.

And oh.

Oh, he tasted it immediately.

The sharp tang of blood.

Metallic. Warm. Iron and copper and something so unmistakably human.

You were practically smothered in it.

Your lips, your hands, your cheeks—all stained red.

And Ronin could taste it all.

You were laughing against his mouth, too.

A sweet, giggly, lovesick little laugh.

Like this wasn’t fucking insane.

Like this was normal.

And maybe it was.

For you. For him.

Ronin’s first instinct was to pull back.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t.

Because this?

This was so much better.

So he let you kiss him.

Let you pull him closer.

Let you smear more blood across his skin as your fingers curled into his hair.

This sweetest of all.

is a sick freak.

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

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 6 months ago

Note

*slamming the table*

IF INSPIRATION STRIKES I NEED A PART 2 OF THE GHOST ONEEEEEE

In The Sight Of Ghosts: part 2 (18+)

TLR!Turtles (Michelangelo) x reader

Part 1 (Suggestive) (18+?)

A/N: *Slamming back on the table* Inspiration struck, so after a few days of writing, I have a part 2! Honestly, I think I can play around with this concept in many more stories to come. Stand alone one shots or something else, IDK. Only the future will tell. Anyway, hope you’ll enjoy🖤

Mikey is in his 40’s. The reader is in their early 20’s. Leo, Raph and Donnie are in their early to mid 20’s.

Warnings: Raph being gross I guess, age difference, mentioning of ghosts and dead brothers, ghost voyeurism, ghost instructions, ghost masturbation, spanking, doggy, mentioning of missionary, implied sex in the future. I think that was all, lol.

When Raph said he was going to find a way, he certainly meant it. It was now his personal goal to find a way to push Mikey over the limit in some way, so that he would - in Raph’s own words - finally dick out his frustrations. And he had no intentions of stopping, no matter how angry Mikey would get. No matter how hard Mikey tried to ignore him and his brothers. Raph just kept going. And it was always whenever you were around. Raph could never just leave you alone. Whenever you entered Mikey’s field of view, Raph was on you, doing some lewd acts that only Mikey and his brothers could see. If you passed Mikey in the hallway, Raph would make a show of making it look like he was about to pin you against the wall. If you stood somewhere in the room, Raph would walk up to you, and place his hands somewhere, making it look like he was groping you. Hands on your ass and chest, his ghost hands fondling you like an animal, smirking in the direction of Mikey and the others. And it made Mikey’s blood boil, trying his best not to watch as Raph acted like he was grinding your hips together in a lewd act. Mikey’s anger and frustration was so strong that even Leo and Donnie could see it.

“Maybe you should do it”, Donnie said, as Raph came with overplayed moans from the couch were you sat, holding your face and thrusting his hips like he was fucking your face, while you - totally unbothered - read the book in front of you. “You obviously find her interesting, and well… she is pretty”.

“Don’t you start as well”, Mikey groaned, just low enough so you wouldn’t hear it, leaning further down over the book that laid in front of him on the table.

“I’m only trying to help”, Donnie said, watching as Raph crouched down in front of you, trying to get a better look at your chest through your shirt. “And, well, if I was in your position, I might have done it by now”. That comment caused Mikey to give Donnie a look that could kill. Had Donnie actually been alive, this look might as well have been what killed him.

“Calm down, Mikey. Just ignore them”, Leo said, from his other side, with his shell facing the show Raph was trying to put on.

“You can’t ignore me forever”, Raph said, having taken a seat next to you on the couch, where he smoothed his hand over your hair, watching you like a predator would watch its prey. “Especially not the day when you start imagining my dick in her instead of yours”.

This comment seemed to trigger something within Mikey. If his blood was boiling, it was now bobbling over the lid. Mikey tried his best to restrain himself, but he just couldn’t, slamming the book in front of him shut, causing you to yelp in shock from the couch, looking at Mikey in shock. However Mikey avoided your eyes, quickly picking up the book from the table, before making his way to his room. You sat in confusion, watching as he left, unaware of the three ghosts that were hot on his heels, following him down the hallway.

He quickly hurried into his room before slamming the door behind him. With a growl he flung the book across the room, before slumping down on the bed, elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands.

“Seems like I touched a soft spot there”, Raph chuckled, earning him an eye roll from Leo.

“Just stop it, and leave her alone”, Mikey mumbled, still not looking up from the floor beneath him.

“Who are you talking to?”

Mikey flinched at the sound of your voice, looking up to find you in his doorway, slowly making your way into his room. The three ghosts stayed quiet, giving each other a look as if they knew something Mikey didn’t.

“No one”, Mikey said, rubbing his hands against the fabric of his overall. “Just… myself”.

“Ah”, you said, staying quiet for a moment. You looked at the door in thought, before you - to Mikey’s surprise - closed it. You turned and walked over to Mikey on the bed, before taking a seat next to him. This even made his brothers silent as they watched you with intent. Mikey felt his fingers getting clammy as he tried to avoid eye contact with you, suddenly finding the sight of the floor under his feet very interesting.

“Mikey… have I done something wrong?”, you suddenly asked, catching Mikey off guard. But the next part almost made his heart stop. “I’ve noticed you… looking at me. You seem… mad… So I was wondering if I did something”.

Mikey finally looked at you, staring directly into your beautiful eyes, feeling a pit opening in his stomach. It was never his intention… He never wanted you to think it was you he looked at… Oh god no…

“No”, Mikey said, shaking his head, ignoring Raph who started moving around out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not mad at you. You haven’t done anything wrong”.

“Then why are you looking at me… like you are?”, you asked, your voice so small it almost broke Mikey’s heart.

“It’s hard to explain… But I’m not mad at you, and I never have been, (Y/N)”.

You placed a hand on Mikey’s knee, almost making him choke on his own breath as he did so. It was then he noticed just how close you were to him. How you had been leaning closer, ever since you first took a seat next to him. The revelation made his heart beat hard and fast behind his plastron. That was when he noticed a smell. A wonderful smell taking over the room. What was that smell? Whatever it was, he wanted more of it.

“Can you at least try to explain it?”, you asked, your voice low and soft, sounding smooth in Mikey’s ear.

“I’m not sure how”, Mikey said, suddenly finding himself very fixated on your lips. How soft they looked and just how close they were. Just a little further, and he might just be able to… god, he really wanted to…

“You don’t have to use words”, you whispered, sending shivers throughout Mikey’s body.

“Kiss her”, Raph's voice suddenly sounded from somewhere to the side. “Come on Mikey. Kiss her”.

Mikey found himself continuously staring down at your lips, contemplating whether or not he should do it. It was so tempting. So tempting…

“He’s right, Mikey”, Leo said. “Do it. Kiss her”.

And with that, Mikey slowly leaned in, closing the gap between the two of you, connecting your lips in a soft kiss. You kissed him back less than a second later, turning your sweet kiss passionate in an instant, with one of your hands coming up to rest on Mikey’s plastron. The wonderful smell in the room grew stronger as Mikey’s big hands came to a rest on your hips, before slowly making their way up.

“You smell that?”, Donnie asked, sniffing around the room.

“Uuuh, she likes it”, Raph laughed. “Give her some tongue, Mikey. I bet she will love it”.

And finally, Mikey allowed himself to do as Raph told him, poking at your lips with his larger tongue, asking for entrance, while one of his hands came to rest on your cheek. You reacted with a sound, much closer to a moan than anything else, opening your mouth and granting him access. Without breaking the kiss you then rose ever so slightly from the bed, before making your way onto Mikey’s lap, straddling him as he leaned further into your increasingly needy kiss, letting small sounds of pleasure escape you.

“Shit”, Mikey heard Donnie mumble as he took in the sight before them, before taking a seat on a chair in the opposite side of the room.

Mikey placed his hands on your bottom as you slowly grinded yourself against him, allowing him to control and increase the speed at which you did it, your breathing becoming heavier and heavier.

“I knew she would be hot”, Raph said, taking a seat at the foot of the bed, so he could get a better look at you.

You then suddenly broke from the kiss, making Mikey fear for a moment that you had been able to hear Raph. But when you then reached for your shirt before pulling it off and throwing it across the room, letting it fly straight through Leo’s form, leaving your top half in nothing but an old see through bra, leaving very little to Mikey’s imagination. You gave Mikey a bright smile, before diving back down into your needy kiss, moaning against his mouth as one of his hands came to massage your breasts. Your hands started fumbling with the straps of Mikey’s overalls in order to undo them. Mikey’s hands moved from your chest to your pants, where he started pulling them down one leg after the other, before throwing them onto the chair Donnie was sitting on. You sat back down on Mikey’s lap, grinding against him once more, with your smell of arousal stronger than ever before. Mikey could feel himself as he was about to drop inside of his overalls, his thick member already aching to be inside of you.

“Time to see if that ass jiggles”, Raph said, his own hand groping at the forming bulge in his pants. And so Mikey did, letting his large hand come down on your left ass cheek with a loud smack, causing you to yelp out loud in pleasure.

“Mikey!”, you cried, letting your head fall to rest against his shoulder. “Please, Mikey, please”.

“Fuck”, Leo groaned, finding himself completely absorbed by what he was watching. “What’s she begging for?”

“Please what, (Y/N)?”, Mikey asked, smoothing his hand over where he had just slapped you.

“Please just fuck me, Mikey!”, you begged.

“Holy shit”, Donnie exclaimed from his chair, where he too had started to feel himself through his pants, all while Leo stood in total silence, his eyes fixated on you and your movements.

“Tell her to get naked”, Raph said, getting ready to pull himself out of his pants. “Ass up”.

Mikey did just as Raph had told him, and gave your ass another smack, before telling you to get naked and get on the bed. You stood up with no hesitation, taking your bra and underwear off in eagerness, before getting on your knees and elbows on Mikey’s bed, unaware that you were facing directly towards Raph.

Mikey made quick work of his overalls, taking in the way your eyes widened when you saw his member spring free from its confinements. And if it was even possible, the scent of your arousal grew stronger once more. Mikey got behind you on the bed, taking in the sight of your juice cunt before him, already feeling dizzy at the thought of you around him. The sight of you, mixed with your scent and under wonderful sounds, Mikey felt his own urge and need growing within him, getting more and more desperate to feel you clench around him.

Mikey placed a hand on your left cheek, before grabbing a hold of his member with the other, guiding it through your folds, picking up your slickness as he went, before giving your ass a sudden slap, causing you to let out another needy moan, begging him once again, your hands gripping onto the sheets of his bed beneath you.

“Please, Mikey! Please!”

With a groan at the sound of your begging, Mikey began pushing himself into your tight hole, moaning when he felt your walls tightening around him. You let out a flurry of lewd sounds as you took in Mikey’s massive size, sinking further and further into you. Mikey’s eyes were glued to the sight of his member slowly disappearing into you, using his hold on your hips to sink you further along his length. However, should Mikey have taken his eyes off of you and looked to Raphael, he would have found the ghost with his member in his hand, slowly working his hand along it as he focused in on your pleasured expression. At the other side of the room, Donnie too was about to wrap his own hand around his member, eyes intently locked on you. Leo was the only one that still hadn’t opened or pulled off his pants, yet his dilated and hungry eyes never left you.

Mikey stayed still inside of you, letting you get used to his impressive size. But when you started wiggling and swaying your hips in front of Mikey, showing him just how needy and inpatient you were getting.

“Ask her what she wants”, Leo suddenly said, his voice low as he spoke, obviously affected by what he was watching.

Mikey started rubbing your behind, keadling you flesh in his large hands. “What do you want me to do, (Y/N)?”, he asked, taking joy in how you started shaking in his hands. “Use your words”.

“Please, just move, Mikey”, you whimpered, trying to back yourself up against him. “Move. Fuck me. Use me”.

“Holy shit. She’s a freak”, Raph said in a smug tone, his hand speeding up ever so slightly. “She deserves a good fucking”.

Mikey’s hand came down on your cheek once more, drawing a loud moan from you once more, clenching further around him. “Of course, when you ask me so nicely”, Mikey said, slowly pulling himself halfway out of you. “I’m going to fuck you untill you can’t walk or talk anymore”. And before you could react to Mikey’s words, he rammed directly back into you. You let out a moan like scream, your face falling to your mattress with your eyes closed and Mikey continued thrusting into you, bringing you large sparks of pleasure with each thrust into you.

Donnie cursed under his breath, his hand moving faster against himself. Raph stared at you with parted lips and hungry eyes, dreaming of what it would feel like to be the one fucking you from behind. Leo still stood with crossed arms and an intense look on his eyes, when suddenly…

“She wants to be used, Mikey”, Leo said. “Spank her again. Show her she’s being used”.

And Mikey did, drawing an almost animalistic sound of pleasure from you when his hand made contact with your skin once more.

“And it continues to jiggle”, Raph chuckled, watching your flesh bounce with every slap, and every time Mikey thrusted against it.

You rested your forehead against your right forearm, reaching down between your legs with your left hand, where you let your fingertips glide over your clit, rubbing it as Mikey increased his speed on you, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the room, bouncing against the stone walls.

“Mikey, I’m close”, you whimpered, your legs getting shaky underneath you.

“Let it happen, (Y/N)”, Mikey groaned, keeping his brutal speed as he fucked you closer and closer to your orgasm.

"Grab her hair”, Donnie’s voice sounded, his voice somewhat wavering from his hand’s work on his member. “Let us see her face”.

And so Mikey did as asked, and grabbed a firm grip at the base at the roots of your hair, before pulling your head up and back from the mattress. This resulted in a clearing of your vocal ways, causing you to get much louder. Your back naturally arched downwards, causing you to back up against Mikey, making each of his thrusts into you much harder than the last. Your hands frantically grabbed for the sheets beneath you, trying to hold onto something as your high came rolling, threatening to crash into you at any moment, your moans coming out as begging like screams.

The ghosts watched you with intensity, trying to match the movements of their hands to the speed at which you where getting fucked, imagining themselves in Mikey’s place, taking you from behind. Leo shifted his legs where he stood, as if trying to act like he wasn’t getting affected by the sight before him. Like he wasn’t imagining how you would feel around him, screaming that you were about to cum.

“I’m cumming!”, you yelled out, your hips squirming against the snaps of Mikey’s hips, as he continuously hit your sweet spot with no signs of slowing down. “I’m cumming, Mikey!”

“Cum for me, (Y/N)”, Mikey groaned. “Cum on my cock. Show me how good I’m fucking you”.

And so you did, your orgasm coming crashing down upon you, your walls clenching around Mikey as he continued to pound into you. Raph and Donnie let out audible groans at the sight and sound of you, taking in all of your beauty and raw pleasure. If only they could be the ones making you feel such pleasure, and have you squirming and moaning at the end of their cocks.

Letting go of your hair, Mikey let you fall back down to the mattress, moaning as you felt the waves of your high still washing over you. Slowing down his thrusts, Mikey kept himself up above you, slowly pushing in and out of you, savoring the feeling of you around him. Even from his few of your back and the side profile of your face, you were beautiful, shining in the light of your slowly subsiding orgasm.

Slowly Mikey pulled out of you, his member still fully erect, begging to be buried within you again. No matter how much Mikey wanted to keep going, and fuck you further into oblivion, releasing himself into you, Mikey decided against it. You were probably tired and in need of a break. He could wait. Your comfort was more important than his pleasure. He couldn’t force you-.

“Mikey”, you whimpered from below him, looking over your shoulder with pink cheeks and disheveled hair, out of breath with a sultry smile on your lips as you lifted your ass up against him, as if to present yourself for him once more. “Please don’t stop now, Mikey”.

Mikey was shocked. Extremely turned on but shocked. And judging from the choked sounds of Raph and Donnie, so were they, not expecting you to still have energy for more. Leo seemed to be the only one that wasn’t shocked.

“You heard her”, Leo said, arms still crossed with a stern look on his face. “Get her on her back and give her what she wants”.

Leo didn’t have to say that twice. Mikey was quick to grab a hold of one of one leg and one arm, flipping you onto your back in one throw. You yelped, followed by laughter, laying fucked, naked and smiling before Mikey, your legs open and inviting for him. And it was at this moment, staring down at your beautiful body, just before diving straight back into you again, that Mikey wondered why he waited so long. Why he had let Raph get his blood boiling for so long, instead of just taking you straight in the kitchen all those days ago. But now, he wasn’t going to let another opportunity go. So there, right in front of the ghostly forms of his brothers, Mikey fucked you right into the matteress, determinded to make up for the many days he had waited, before feeling your warm cunt around him and your desperate moans in his ear.

And so, you and Mikey continued your lewd dance of arms and legs tangled together, all in front of the watchful eyes of Mikey’s dead brothers, long into the night and again the next morning, and many more occasions to come.

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arienic · 9 months ago

Text

(KILLER CHAT) RONIN X READER

Every time Ronin kisses you, you feel his grin on your mouth.

Not that it's the worst thing. Objectively, this should be the least of your worries. But sometimes his teeth knock against yours, and it feels like you're middle-schoolers trying your hand at a sweet first kiss. You kiss and kiss and kiss again — it never seems to go away, that damning smile of his. So you talk to him.

"Ronin," you tell him breathlessly one time, your face a hair's breadth from his; your eyes hazy, lazy, and half-lidded, "I can't kiss you properly if you keep smiling and laughing."

He'd only grinned again: a sly, sly thing. His thumb traces circles under your jaw. "Thought I was kissin' you pretty well there, baby. Weren't you enjoying it at all?"

"Ronin," you try again — but he outright laughs, this time, and you flush indignantly.

"So desperate, so pathetic," he says, and presses his joyous mouth right on yours. It lasts: one moment, two moments, three moments, four. Just as you begin to melt into him, he pulls away. Ronin laughs again at the look on your face: want, want, want. "What a pretty, pathetic darlin'. All for me, hm?"

You sigh, leaning down to hide your face in his neck. "God, you're horrible."

He gasps mockingly. "Fuck, really? Hadn't noticed."

"Ronin."

"And to ask me to give up one of my only means to express joy?" he continues, thumbing at the space under your ear. You shiver, sighing into his neck. "Such a cruel lover. You're trying to ruin me, aren'tcha?"

"Fuck you," you mutter, eyes fluttering shut.

"Brutal," Ronin says, grinning, and coaxes you from your hiding spot. "Fuckin' wicked, baby."

When he kisses you again, you think he's doing it on purpose: bumping his teeth into yours, his lips slipping past your own and onto your cheek; and his smile, stretching wider than ever.

#killer chat x reader #killer chat vn #ronin x reader #killer chat ronin x reader #killer chat x you #ronin x you #killer chat ronin x you #pleade i loeve im ur honor u odnt understand ur honor #this might be ooc idk its the firs ttime i have written this guy #have mercy!!!!!

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stellaspectral · 3 months ago

Text

Wait for Me (one-shot)

❤️ The Last Ronin Raphael/Gender Neutral Reader ❤️

You always thought love stories—those fairytale romances—were reserved for storybooks, for other people. Your life with him was a rollercoaster, a whirlwind of danger and adrenaline. Endless battles with the Foot Clan, constant threats lurking in the shadows. It was terrifying, exhilarating, and real. But there is always one unwavering truth. One thing the two of you could agree on: death is preferable to the agony of living without each other.

Rating: Mature

Tags: Reader-Insert, Gender Neutral Reader, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Established Relationship, Human/Turtle Relationships (TMNT), Aged-Up Character(s), Involuntary Medical Sedation, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Anger, Suicidal Thoughts, Hallucinations, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder – PTSD, Comic: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Last Ronin, Ambiguous/Open Ending

Summary: You couldn’t have stopped him that night at the apartment. And as you watch him leave, you fall to your knees, sobbing. Because deep-down, you know—

—that this will be the last time you will ever see him.

�� Read on AO3 💖

#my writing #tmnt the last ronin #tmnt tlr #tmnt raphael #tmnt raph #tmnt tlr raphael #tmnt tlr raph #tmnt x reader #tmnt the last ronin x reader #tmnt tlr x reader #the last ronin raphael #the last ronin raph #the last ronin raphael x reader #the last ronin raph x reader #raphael x reader #raph x reader #tmnt raphael x reader #tmnt raph x reader

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decayedsword · 2 months ago

Note

Hiiii, i was just wondering if you can write a ronin x reader where reader had actually accidentally killed someone back then out of anger bcs they've had it with that person and ronin found out

(I ACCIDENTALLY WROTE 2000 WORDS FOR THIS ONE.)

(but hey! here ya go!)

WARNING: Mentions of Murder, Blood, Gore-y stuff in general.

Devilish

It's always been easy for you to stomach slasher movies.

Post-graduation, your beloved friends would constantly pester you, asking you to join them for their gore-ish movie nights, which consisted of none other than A-grade thrillers and horror films.

You recall how your eyes would remain locked on the screen, observing the killer, watching how they move with such ease, such delicacy and ruthlessness. The main character, so sweet and innocent and naive, no matter how far they run, the killer would reach them—reach for their throat, their head, and slice it open with a knife, or an axe, or some other mundane object with a blade.

Your friends would scream. They would jump, yell, screech, flinch at the sight of it, but you didn't. You never did. They always took the liberty of hiding behind you in a haunted house, clung onto you when they felt scared, shivering and sore from running through strung-up props from some human anatomy playset.

You've seen this scene before. It's become a cliche for you. The image of blood, gore, intestines, organs, splattered all over the pavement doesn't make you want to retch, to imitate them and pour your guts out in the nearest bathroom. You've seen worse. For a writer with serial killers for friends, at least.

At least once a week, there's a new message in the server's #killer_shit channel. Sometimes it's Angel, a wide portrait with the lifeless body of a man in a suit, a gunshot wound to his head, pale and eyes rolled back. Sometimes it's Misaki, a selfie with half of their face in it, and a deformed figure of a human in the background, teeth pulled out and fingers cut off.

More often, it's Ronin. He's the reason for why you've built your constitution for such wicked imagery. The unfamiliar shape of a person curled into a satanic circle, carved pentagrams into skin and stomachs gutted out. Bodies hung, skinned, decapitated, bloody and bare and brutal. The first time you saw the absolute crime scene he left behind, your stomach churned, uncomfortable and weary, as if it were the next thing on Ronin's hit list.

Ah, well. You're a writer. You've gotten used to writing your serial-killer protagonist. That's all.

It's mostly a lie. It hasn't always been easy for you to see the familiar maroon-stained weapons and fucked-up corpses.

You swallow the thought back down your throat and into your stomach. Part of you starts hoping that maybe Ronin would kill you, he is in the area after all, but you've passed that obstacle in your relationship a few weeks ago, when you chose to kiss him and all his entirety.

Six years had passed since then. No witnesses, a wrecked crime scene, and the body was never found. A perfect crime. Your perfect crime.

You were afraid it would come up again.

Unfortunately for you, the world is not beautiful, nor kind, nor considerate. It comes up on a simple Tuesday morning. The clock reads 3:33 AM, the Devil's hour. Alas, who else to absolve you of your sin but Lucifer himself?

"Well seeing as how I picked dare last time and almost got caught by the police–" Misaki started, earning a few snickers from the people in the call, "I choose truth."

Ronin was their dealer, an honest mistake on everyone's part. He was unpredictable, impossible to read, especially in games that involved a lot of thinking, as if he saw right through you. Everyone stayed silent, curious as to what crazy idea he'll say next.

"Hey, I'll hit ya up with an easy one this time." His voice rang through your ears, sarcastic and teasing. You ease up after hearing his stupidly hilarious pun and how he'll give Misaki an easy question. "The Devil wants to know if ya had a serial killer experience b'fore you became one. 's all."

"Oh! Actually, there is one!" Misaki exclaimed. “When I was a wee child, back in high school, I think? We had this exchange program, so I got to go abroad for a bit. There was this guy in my class, a massive freaking bully—and when I say bully, I don’t just mean wedgies, oh no. I mean that this guy was a total monster. He beat people up so bad he almost killed them.” Their hands moved as they explained, making the flashback much more interesting than it seemed.

V coughed. “You don’t suppose he’s ever received juvenile detention?”

Misaki shook their head. “No…no, he disappeared.”

You didn’t like where this conversation was headed. “What happened?” you asked, faking your curiosity. You cared much for Misaki, but if they were talking about what you think they were, then maybe you’ve been connected to the Slaughterhouse Losers for far more than you remember. How satirically fateful.

The ravenette continued, brushing strands of their red hair out of her face. “No one really knows. One day, after he beat up a particular student, their name was Eve, nicest person ever by the way, he just…vanished.”

“Eve Eden?” Your voice spilled from your throat, small and yet audible enough for everyone to hear. You curse yourself internally.

Misaki’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, how’d you know?” Their head tilted ever so slightly to the left, “Oh my gosh, don’t tell me you studied there too?”

Your eyes moved back and forth frantically, stopping at Ronin’s web camera. His eyes were deep in thought, calculating and analyzing—analyzing you. You were being observed by a poet, a writer, just as you observed your favorite serial killers in the slasher movies you used to watch with your friends.

“Yeah! Eve used to be my best friend. We’re still in touch too, we watched the Fear Street series not too long ago.” You spoke in a way that made you look tired, eyes weary and voice deliberately faint and slow. You prayed someone would get the message.

“Aww, hey. You sound like you should get some sleep.” Angel replied, your savior, a true angel indeed, biblical and all. After a few grumbles from Misaki, and a huff from V, you pretended to concede and left the voice call.

You had a dream that night. No, not a dream. You don’t dream, and when you do it’s easier to call them visions. They’re prophetic in a way, a calling from the past or the future, a blemish upon your sleeping patterns. You wish they would stop.

A punch, a kick, a stab. Dragging a dead man walking. Throwing him across the dirt. Heavy breathing. Blood on balled-up fists. You pull.

There’s a head of hair in your hands. The adrenaline rushed through your veins, giving you strength, supporting you through your justice.

He had to pay.

A flash of white blinded you, and there you saw Eve, fast-asleep in her hospital room, countless needles struck in her skin, once full of color, yet now washed out.

Anger surged through you. You regret nothing.

He drowned that day, in the lake you and Eve used to swim in when you two were children.

You grit your teeth as he struggled in your grasp, opening his mouth to curse you, a fatal mistake. The water simply entered his lungs faster.

When he succumbed to the tide, body filled, you were sure he died, not from you, but from the weight of his own ego.

You burnt his body in the woods. You swept up the remains and buried them in a nearby cemetery. You said your prayers. You left.

When the school investigated his disappearance, Eve covered for you. She said you were in her hospital room the entire time.

The sun woke you up, rays fluttering through your eyes and blinding you. Groggily, you get up and check your cellphone. A message notification greets you. It’s from Ronin.

<goreboy> [08:34]

gmorning darling

hows My favorite writer Doing?

Incoming call from goreboy

→ Yes please …

→ no thanks …

You accept his call, snuggling under the covers and breathing in the scent from the jacket he lent you. It smells like a certain kind of men’s cologne, strong and makes you want to sneeze, but it also smells like grease and iron. You laugh to yourself.

“Whatcha laughin’ at baby?” Ronin’s web camera is open. He’s on his phone too, seeing as how he’s using the portrait function instead of the usual landscape. His red hair is messy, with no beanie to tame it. You stare at him for quite a while, a giddy feeling in your stomach. The devil really does look like an angel.

“Nothing.” There’s a huge smile on your face, and you can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks.

“You free later? Got somethin’ t’give ya.” he suggests, accent slightly seeping through his words. You can tell he’s just woken up with how slow and steady he talks.

“Mm, yeah? What’s the devil gonna give little old me?” you tease, playing into your role as his partner, his darling, his everything. He scoffs on the other end of the line and he gives you a toothy grin, making your heart somersault in your chest.

“Jus’ meet me in Purgatory, darlin’.”

When the two of you meet in the familiar alleyway where your first kiss was shared, you gain the strange feeling of deja vu. Ronin has you up against the wall once more, trapped between his arms and staring at his pretty face.

“Hey.” you whisper, face flushed red.

“Hey yourself.” he whispers back, eyes intense and searching. You worry about what he’s trying to find within you, you worry about how the secrets you’ve whispered to the wind in hopes to rid yourself of them are now caught in his spiderweb.

You shift uncomfortably in his gaze. He knows something. He has you all figured out. Curse you for falling in love with a mastermind.

Ronin slowly moves his left hand to your chin, tilting it upward, making you look at him.

“Got any confessions f’r the devil, little lamb?”

He knows. Your eyes dart back and forth between his face and the space on your right that he’d left open when he moved his hand to cradle your face. There’s a mental debate between your heart and your brain. You wish you could run. You can’t bring yourself to.

Sighing, you grab his hand and lead him through the twists and turns of the alley, reaching the cemetery on the other side. The two of you walk together, hand-in-hand amongst the dead, as if you ruled over them.

At the end of the graveyard, there’s a stone pillar that divides the woods into two paths. You drag Ronin to the path on your right. You still remember, scissors in hand, how far you ran to catch up to him, his hands grasping at the stab wound in his stomach.

You turn left. There’s a field of flowers there, beautiful and serene, and oh-so ironic. You’re about to look back at Ronin when a hand brushes against your ear, placing a flower there. There was something oddly romantic about it. Here you were, showing him your sins, your crimes, your mistakes, and he gladly accepted your insanity, your madness—you.

“I buried him here.” It's half-a-whisper, but the devil hears you nonetheless.

Your lips trembled, guts spilling out to the man before you. “I lured him here. I stabbed him and chased him down.” The events of that day flash rapidly in your mind, making your breathing unsteady and rapid. “I grabbed him by the hair—” You extended your hand, pointing to the body of water in the distance. “—and I drowned him.”

Ronin could only watch as your chest heaved, needing air, needing release. Your mouth, once agape and needing sharp intakes of air, broke into a smile, maniacal and crazy. Your hands reach to cover your lips, but your laugh echoes through the flowers, the trees, the lake, and through the two of you.

Your eyes are bloodshot. Ronin’s eyes are too. His grin matches yours.

“He died egotistical.” You shoot out, a dead look in your eyes that definitely does not match your smile. You wonder if Ronin's surprised at your sudden plot twist in his story—isn't it everything he's ever wished for?

Ronin, upon realizing the severity of the situation, cackles, just as you did, deranged and demented and deadly. He reaches for your face, your expressions complementing each other.

He pulls you in for a kiss. It tastes like concupiscence. You drown in him.

You’re insane. You’re adorable. You’re a devil.

In between kisses, you hear the voice of Lucifer, calling you from hell. "You're perfect."

THIS WAS SO FUN FOR ME TO WRITE. THANK U SM FOR THE ASK!!

cross posted on rottenvamp @ ao3 <3

#killer chat #killer chat ronin #ronin beaufort #kc #kc ronin #ronin #fanfic #killer chat visual novel #killer chat vn #ronin x reader #ronin beaufort x reader

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beanwaterontherocks · 4 months ago

Text

80's Slasher Style

Fandom: Killer Chat! Pairing: Ronin Beaufort x gn!reader Summary: You already expected a summer camp counselor job to come with its fair share of problems. Those you were way too underpaid to deal with. But a murderer? Really? Warnings: Murder and implied violence, Summer Camp AU Word count: 3616

Normally having the thought “I’m not getting paid enough for this” while working at a summer camp came to you when you had to break up a fight or deal with a clogged toilet. Your biggest gripes with the job were mosquito bites and unruly kids. But that was your first thought when you saw your coworker Ronin dragging a real life corpse into the woods.

You had tried to rationalize it at first, maybe you were tired and seeing things. Maybe it was one of the dolls from your CPR training day. But no, you saw the way blood dripped from the body’s head, staining the ground as Ronin moved into the trees.

Breakfast in the dining hall was filled with its usual laughter and the occasional piece of food thrown. You stared into your watery coffee, mind racing with the memories of last night. When you first met Ronin you hadn’t noticed anything off.

Sure, his whole devil spiel was interesting to say the least but he was good with the kids. You never imagined the hands that were making beaded bracelets just yesterday would be capable of murder. As much as it pained you to say now, you had even found him a little cute. An echo of your name sounded in your ear and you turned to see Misaki, who had sat down next to you while you were lost in your thoughts.

“Are you okay? You seem a little out of it”, they said, popping an apple slice into their mouth. You tried your best to give a reassuring smile that likely had the opposite effect.

“It’s nothing I’m just…worried about the hike and camping today”, you lied, eyes darting around looking for burgundy hair. Ronin wasn’t there, was he still out in the woods getting rid of the evidence? Who had he even killed, who was missing?

“I’m sure it’ll be fun, I’ve got tons of creepy ghost stories ready”, Misaki said proudly.

“Please don’t, they’re not going to sleep if they’re scared”, Angel laughed as she passed your table. It was still a trip to have a famous model working as a camp counselor, you still hadn’t asked her about why she was here.

“Do not eat the ladybug, I am sure it would not appreciate it”, a voice spoke and you looked over to see V gently taking the spotted insect from a kid. You found your heartbeat steadying as you realized you could depend on one of your other coworkers. You had to tell one of them about what you saw, before Ronin realized that you had seen him.

The camp director approached you, his knuckles white as he gripped his clipboard.

“We’re a counselor short for the hiking trip, I’m putting Ronin on your team”, he said and you almost crushed the paper cup in your hand. Your pulse spiked again as you swallowed your nervousness.

“Wasn’t Mike going to come with us?” You asked tentatively. He shook his head and leaned in close to you.

“Mike quit last night, he just texted me that he was going home and then left! Can you believe it?” He scoffed and you felt your heart sink, knowing where he really was, likely buried just a few hundred feet away.

“I really can’t…” you mused as he walked away. Now you had to camp out in the forest at night with a killer, you really didn’t get paid enough for this. You finished your breakfast and headed back to the activities cabins, there was half an hour before morning activities started. You wondered if you should take a page out of Mike’s fake book and quit on the spot. Sure, you needed the money but 12 dollars an hour wasn’t worth dying for, not even in this economy.

You wandered past the bonfire and towards the arts cabin. The only sounds were the distant screams of excited kids and the chirping of birds. That was until you heard him behind you, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. You were almost expecting a knife to your throat but Ronin stood there with his hands in his pockets.

“Mornin’, I can’t wait for the hike later, just me, you and the wilderness”, he laughed, his usual toothy grin had an underlying sinister tone.

He had seen you too.

“You’re forgetting 3 other counselors and 20 kids”, you said, picking at one of your braided friendship bracelets. He wouldn’t do anything in broad daylight, hopefully.

“Yeah them too, I hear Misaki’s got some ghost stories, I bet you love a good scare”, he said, leaning forward to be at eye level with you. You gritted your teeth, maybe you should just call the police and get the fuck out of there.

You weren’t really sure why you didn’t, whether it was cowardice or feeling that it’d somehow be futile. Ronin’s expression was completely calm and casual, either he truly didn’t know or he was extremely confident, annoyingly cocky even. In what you weren’t sure of yet, that you wouldn’t tell anyone? That he could easily get rid of you?

Your entire body was on alert the longer you spent alone with him but, to your surprise, he turned on his heel and began to walk away. Ronin shot you one last smile over his shoulder and the adrenaline coursing through your veins was accompanied by something warmer. You absolutely did not have time to question your still lingering attraction to a guy you knew was a murderer. Not when you had to be at the arts cabin for pottery lessons.

You donned a pair of plastic gloves and opened a pack of sandwich bread, there was a lot of food to prepare for the hike and you had decided to help the camp cook. The door to the kitchen swung open as you began spreading jelly onto the bread.

V walked into the kitchen, spotting you and giving a nod as a greeting. He was quiet most of the time, but perked up with fun facts every time there was talk about wildlife. Apparently he was quite wealthy so you wondered why he would spend his time working for peanuts at a random summer camp. But he seemed to enjoy being outside and people could have hobbies.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw V carrying a large hunk of wrapped raw meat out from the fridge. You did remember the cook saying that dinner for the hike would be stew with pork sirloin. V picked up a large, shining meat cleaver and got to work chopping up the meat.

The way he held the blade drew your attention. There was so much conviction behind his grip on the wooden handle. He seemingly wasn’t phased by the heaviness of the knife or the sharpness, his cuts were clean, precise and…perfect. The meat quickly and efficiently turned from a slab into a bunch of uniform squares, not a piece wasted.

You recalled how V avoided any bacon, sausage or eggs at the breakfast tables and how he always had his own, different dish at dinner.

“You’re really good at that, I thought you didn’t eat meat”, you said as you packed up another sandwich. V glanced at you as he put the cubed meat onto a metal tray.

“I don’t eat it, though I suppose I’m skilled at butchering without waste”, he said, his brows furrowing slightly at the word ‘butcher’. You couldn’t get the image out of your mind, steady hands that had seemed so gentle skillfully cutting into flesh. It was just pork and he probably cooked a lot for other people, you reassured yourself. Your mind was just paranoid after finding out about Ronin, you were seeing danger everywhere.

You showed the boy how to braid the bright colorful string once again and leaned back in your chair. Ronin had been absent from your line of sight since that morning. Maybe he was starting to get worried that you were going to tell someone. Or maybe he was just playing with you, like a looming cat with a squeaky mouse toy. You couldn’t let him sink his claws in, no matter what happened.

Angel sat in the chair opposite yours, making sparkly beads into stunning bracelets. The pieces she had already made adorned her wrists and neck, jazzing up the plain t-shirt with the camp’s bear logo. You found your gaze traveling to one of her wrists, the bracelet was made up of the dainty crystal beads you had bought for the camp before the season started.

Though one bead was different, it was sort of…lumpy and a slight off-white. Your eyes narrowed, what had looked like a matte freshwater pearl before now looked wrong and almost familiar. You didn’t know why, but you ran the tip of your tongue over one of your canine teeth. Something jolted up your spine as Angel looked away from her work to catch you staring.

“Is something wrong?” She asked, tilting her head and you quickly shook yours.

“I’m okay, just didn’t get a lot of sleep, I was zoning out”, you said, rubbing the back of your neck. You were being so paranoid, you needed to tell someone about Ronin soon to get this weight off your chest. Angel propped a hand under her chin and smiled at you, making you feel less tense.

“If you want to catch up on some sleep you can go to bed early tonight, I’ll watch your group for you”, she offered and you sighed, there was no reason to worry about someone as sweet as Angel was.

Your sneakers crunched against the dry ground, it was a hot day so you would need plenty of water for the hike. Maybe you could still quit, it’d be a dick move but a lot better than potentially being murdered 80s-slasher-style. As you walked towards the counselor’s cabins you spotted a group of campers playing soccer on an empty expanse of grass. You spotted a tall, burgundy-haired figure playing with them.

Ronin laughed as a kid passed him the ball, he ran between two others trying to block him and kicked the ball into the rusty old goal. His teammates cheered and Ronin bent down to give one of them a high-five. It would have been sweet, maybe it would have even endeared you to him. But you couldn’t ignore the memory flashing in your mind and the rotten taste in your mouth that accompanied it. Black eyes locked with yours, glimmering like embers with an infuriating mischief.

How could he find any of this funny? Ronin ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face and you could see the glistening sweat on his skin. You scoffed and turned your head away, ignoring the way your face heated up. You had to get it together now, this was serious.

Even though the light poured through the trees, casting beams of sunshine onto the buttercup-littered forest floor, the woods looked anything but inviting to you. You felt the pocket on the side of your cargo shorts. The knife you had brought was no sharp hunting knife, it was barely longer than your ring finger and made for whittling. But as much as you (told yourself that) hated Ronin, you didn’t want to stab him so the blade was really just insurance.

Almost as if he had read your mind, the man in question walked up to stand next to you. Him, Angel, V, Misaki, you and the older kids were gathered at the treeline. It was time for the hike and time for you to toughen up. Your breath hitched when you felt Ronin’s shoulder brush against yours, yup, that was definitely just anxiety.

Your group of 4 trailed behind you as you walked through the woods, the map to the camping ground folded out in front of you. In reality, the trail was carefully marked so getting lost would take a lot of stupidity. But you needed something to do with your hands instead of making sure that you still had your knife.

“Now if we do encounter a bear you shouldn’t panic, how we proceed will depend on if it has cubs with it or not”, V spoke as he walked with his group ahead of you, resting a hand on the clearly nervous kid’s shoulder. “But usually, they do not approach larger groups, you have nothing to fear”. His words made you glance over at Ronin, who was strolling with his hands resting behind his head.

For now, while the sun was still up and everyone was awake, you had nothing to fear.

The sky had faded into a warm deep yellow as the sun made its way down the horizon. The group has decided to take a short break before you’d arrive at the camping grounds. As you sipped from your water bottle, you felt a light tap on your shoulder and turned around to see Misaki standing there.

“It’s golden hour, prime photo-time, how about we take some pictures to remember this?” They suggested, pulling their phone out of their pocket. You agreed and offered to be the photographer, taking a few steps back on the trail to get everyone in frame. As you snapped a few photos, Misaki’s phone buzzed with a notification. Your eyes couldn’t help but skim over the message that popped up from a texting app you didn’t recognize.

“Nicely done with the chainsaw, I wired some extra money to your account, hope to work with you again soon”.

You chuckled to yourself at where your brain initially went. Misaki did mention having a full-time job outside of camp season. You supposed they…cut up trees for a living. Just lumber, nothing but boring woodwork. You gave them back their phone and did your best to smile as you noticed the sky getting darker, soon you’d have to face the harrowing, screechy music.

After dinner was finished, you all sat on logs around the campfire, roasting marshmallows in the warm summer night. You watched as the sugary surface burned, cracking into coal-like fragments.

Soon it would be bedtime and everyone would bundle up in their tents, sleeping soundly to the lullaby of grasshoppers. You stared into the flicking fire, catching a glimpse of Ronin seated on the other side. He looked down with a girl at the DS she had smuggled to the hike. He looked so harmless with his colorful bracelets, camp t-shirt and amused grin.

A voice inside of you was, somehow, sure that he was. At least to everyone here but you. The genuine content look in those obsidian eyes crackled away as they traveled to rest on you. The amusement was still there, but there was a challenge to his gaze, an urge to play this game with you.

The minutes ticked away on your watch as a symphony of closing tent zippers rang throughout the grounds. The last withering embers from the fire fought against the breeze as you dug into the dirt with the tip of your shoe. Ronin returned from checking that everyone was going to sleep and sat down next to you on the log.

“Thanks for keeping it light with the ghost stories” Angel said, smiling as Misaki shuffled the deck of cards they’d brought out. You weren’t in the mood for rummy, or any kind of game, you were utterly sick of playing. As you stood up, you announced that you were going for a walk, your gaze flickering down at Ronin. He shot you his signature devious smile and gave a cute little wave and you hid your scowl by turning the other direction.

You made your way through the trees, a small grassy cliff coming into view. Your hand slid into your pocket and pulled out your measly knife. After waiting, you began to wonder if he was even going to grace you with his presence. A rustle in the bushes made your heart begin to pound in your ears and you saw heavy black boots emerge from the foliage.

“What are you gonna do with that, darlin’? Carve our initials into a tree trunk?” Ronin laughed, his toothy grin wide on his face. “Be careful, summer romance is the perfect slasher bait”, he walked towards you. Despite almost every cell in your body screaming at you to run, you stood your ground until he had your back pressed up against the rough bark of a tree.

With his arms caging you in, he could probably hear the erratic thumping of your aorta. Maybe it was the sweetest of melodies to him. “So, what are you going to do, you still haven’t answered me~ that’s a little rude”, he purred, eyes shimmering with delight as your brows furrowed.

What were you going to do now? Your grip on the hilt of the knife tightened, he was close but you were armed. His wine-colored locks almost tickled your cheeks as he loomed over you, his breath was warm against your lips. There was enough room to move your arms, drive the blade into him.

Something stopped you…you didn’t want to stoop to his level. No, who were you even kidding? It wasn’t something cheesily noble like that. Your heartbeat was full of excitement, not the rush of terror or dread of anxiety. You had liked this game, had you always been sick in this way? Or did he see it deep within you and decided to violently claw it out. You weren’t sure how this would end, if there would even be a winner but you were going to give him your best.

“I know what you did”, you said, staring into his irises, teetering on the edge of falling into the void.

“What did I do this summer?” Ronin asked mockingly and you kind of wanted to punch him if he made another horror movie reference. Maybe you weren’t completely rotten yet.

You simply rolled your eyes and reached your other hand out to grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him in.

“You killed Mike, why’d you do it?” You asked, curiosity starting to gnaw at you, he seemed so well-acquainted with murder. Before Ronin could speak up, he was cut off by loud steps as three figures tore through the greenery.

“Ronin…” Angel said under her breath as her, V and Misaki stared at the scene before them. The flowing, heated exhilaration of the moment froze over as you looked back at them. Angel’s sky-blue eyes were wide and you felt a pang in your heart. Those two had seemed close, her world must have begun to crumble at learning what Ronin had done.

A deep, exhausted sigh sounded from beside her as V shook his head in…annoyance.

“We had an agreement, what if one of the children found his corpse?” V scoffed as your gaze flicked back to Angel, who had crossed her arms.

“I did kind of expect this, it’s you after all”, she said, a light smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“You hid it, right? The kind of stuff you do can scar a kid for life”, Misaki said, their tone concerned. What did they mean by the kind of stuff he did? Ronin removed his palms from the tree and held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Aw come on, have some mercy, I had to completely go against my M.O!” He locked eyes with you “Burying a body is a lot less fun than twistin’ it into a pentagram”.

You realized you didn't get the luxury of dealing with a regular killer but the Devil’s Butcher. “Plus, you should have heard the way he talked to his girlfriend on the phone, he had it comin’”, Ronin explained.

One by one, your other coworkers revealed themselves to be killers as well, making you the weird one here. The fear that was present at first had melted away, leaving only pure bewilderment. There was still something that hadn’t been resolved though and that weirdly didn’t make you as nervous as it should have.

“So what happens now?” you glanced behind you, catching a glimpse of the rocky patch under the edge of the cliff “It’s not a huge drop but with the right angle…”. Past you would probably throw you over the cliff themselves at your insane words.

“That won’t be necessary”, V spoke and Ronin chuckled, his voice laced with a sick enjoyment.

“Speak for yourself, keep talkin’”, he drawled, making you roll your eyes.

Maybe you were trustworthy or maybe it was sheer dumb luck, but you lived to see the bright sunrise the next morning. You knew they’d all be keeping a close eye on you to make sure you held up your end of the deal.

You’d make pretty friendship bracelets, go on scenic nature hikes, calm down screaming kids and sing corny campfire songs with your coworkers. Who were, for now, willing to dispose of you if you decided to rat them out.

As you packed up your sleeping bag you noticed that your knife was missing. Your eyes scanned over the camping ground before landing on one of the nearby trees. There it sat with the pointy tip stabbed into the wood. You walked up and saw the letters etched deep into the bark. There was no cliché arrowed heart surrounding the sharply written ‘R’ and your own first initial. Instead, Ronin had craved little triangle devil horns and a swirling tail around the letters.

This was going to be an interesting summer job.

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

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aurmisery · 4 months ago

Text

confessions unheard: sickening sweetness.

a ronin b. x gn! reader for 'My Fallen Valentine's.'

okay as you can guess this is going to be ronin x reader ! hope i did this prompt correctly? i just thought of really sweet (unhinged even) fluff.

cw // depictions of gore and viscera, this is ronin we're talking about LMFAO, violence, references to cat-calling/sexual harassment, drinking,

-and i'm sure that's it!

sorry if this is ooc, since this is supposed to be sweet n shit i tried making him more of a loser and uncharacteristically in love??? also i don't even know if he drinks and im sure it's probably not canon for him to be feinin this much 😭

idrk if i have a good grip on his character n all but i tried my best!! sorry for all the filler in this lol

good luck to everyone else participating!

(FUCKING FINALLY I GOT ALL THE WORDS BACK PLUS MORE!?! ENJOY!!!!! and if there's any errors....just ignore it...for my sake...)

word count: 5723 ❤️

something's...wrong, with ronin.

well- you technically could say that out of context and nothing would change, but no, something is terribly wrong with him. and surprisingly, it's not the fact that he's a serial killer with a kill count that rises practically everyday, nor is it the human remains aligning his shelves.

he's been out of it lately. constantly pacing around the reds and blacks of his room, all the while being more...fidgety than usual, unable to focus or parade his regular devil-may-care attitude around.

this is really fucking weird for him; ronin beaufort is the devil, and the devil doesn't change. he remains in the darkest pits of hell and slaps his knee at the idea of it, even.

he's unchanging, eternal, his punishment being no different.

so why couldn't he focus on his damn job and get this fucking filter replaced?

sweat beads down his forehead, grease coating his arms as he strained his neck further beneath the car, wrist flicking with each turn on the drain bolt and eventually...

it loosens, crust fluttering from the grooves of the screw, and the must of... whatever the hell's been sitting in this person's tank slowly infiltrating his nose.

it didn't have the strong petroleum scent, none of the chemical sharpness, and it didn't snake up his nose like new oil did either-

it smelled charred. ashy, even, and the must was evident as he turned the bolt and it did the rest of the work, a thick, almost black sludge filtering out of the tank and all over the concrete ground with a wet thud.

lacking a quick reaction, ronin's brows knitted low, letting a small 'fuck,' pass by his lips as he turned and reached around for wherever the hell he laid the oil catch pan.

he forgot to put it under the plug...somehow.

he's been forgetting to do a lot of things recently, matter of fact.

he shoves the thought down. he probably just needs to stop staring at a screen as soon as he comes home and get more rest, yeah, that's it.

speaking of a screen, when did you last text him? actually, when's the last time you two have held a conversation?

he slides the pan from beside him underneath the gunk-spewing tank, rolling from under the car and grabbing his tools and such off the ground, running his nails through the tips of his low ponytail.

...maybe he should check his phone.

it wouldn't hurt, just to see if there's a notification from you. he did get your number, finally. took a bit of convincing and some back-and-forth before you slid it, but now he has one of his best friends at his fingertips.

best...friends.

the collocation doesn't really fit with you, or at least the image he has of you. sure, you're his friend, a damn good one at that, and if he were to use it the way a normal person would, he would definitely call you his best friend.

but it doesn't feel right for him to call you that.

it's not like you're undeserving of the title, but it just doesn't fit with you. should he create a nice little title for ya?

he grins at the idea, and doesn't seem to notice the blackened oil trickling over his knuckles as he fumbles with his password.

you two are like... peanut butter and jelly? nah, overused, and stupidly corny. you two are like...thelma and louise! ehhh, he's not feeling it. cool reference, but maybe there's something else buried in that skull of his.

he leans against the car door, finally wiping his hand over the thin material of one of his plain work shirts. you can't really wear anything cool when you're working as a mechanic, after all.

tom and jerry? you two do bicker a lot. eh, not enough, also doesn't have that ring to it. bonnie and clyde? hard maybe, it'd be perfect if it was more platonic, besides, you two are just friends anyway.

friends- ugh, he cringes at that. he can't just dilute his partner in crime to a...friend.

naming you his partner in crime is very basic, but considering the underlying context between you two, it's rather fitting, right?

yeah, you're his partner in crime. plus, it doubles as a Set It Off reference in a way. fitting, veeeery fitting, actually.

"yo, beaufort! i'mma need this area in about 2 to 3, you finishin' up over there?"

a burly voice calls out- presumably one of his coworkers, and the twist in ronin's lips gives out- no notification from you.

he types out a quick message to you: 'still Alive?' as he slides his phone back onto the work table, he'll check it later- and only when he's done with this stupid replacement.

he lowers himself onto his creeper, rolling underneath the car whilst pulling the sludge-filled tin from underneath the ink-smeared tank and flushing the rest of the old oil out.

he grabs a wrench, tapping the rust and burnt oil from the plug and screwing it right back to its rightful place. he can do this quick, he's done this hundreds of times before, what's one more?

he's taking out the old tank when a high pitched chime rings out from his work table, his notifications alerting him of a new message.

weirdly enough, his motions freeze on cue and he's about to stand up and check it like it was instinct. but- well, he was still under the car.

a sharp, hollow crack rang through the garage as his head met the steel frame above him. a curse shot from his lips, low and snarled as the pain bloomed across his skull. eyes squeezed shut, he gritted his teeth, pressing a palm against the fresh ache.

for a moment he just...laid there, letting his arms fall flat on the concrete below him, exhaling through his nose and letting the pain settle before daring to move again.

what the hell's wrong with him? he told himself that he wasn't going to check his phone 'till he's done with this, and this is one of the easiest things to do in this field! why is it taking him this long?

through his wavering vision, he could spot two muddied boots slinking besides the car he's under, before they creased and the person sunk into a crouch.

"you okay there, kid?"

ronin rolled his eyes- 'kid', only one or two people here call him that, and the baritone of his voice paired with those boots must mean that the manager was doing his rounds and decided to check in on him.

"'m fine, just layin' on the concrete 'cause i wanna."

a thick rumble reminisce of a chuckle reins deep from the gut of the older man, before he cleared his throat and reached a gloved hand out underneath the car.

"need an ice pack?"

he eyed it- could help if there's any possibility of a bruise or a welt showing up, but as ronin ran a hand down his face, he gave a shake of his head.

it doesn't really hurt that badly anymore.

"nah, thanks though. just...lemme finish this and i'll be on my way out."

a grunt followed, the gloved hand retracting from under the car, and the raggedy pair of boots turned out of view.

alright, fuck it- let's just get this over with.

with a quick brush of his hands, ronin came out to the front, tapping on one of the various workers and letting them know that he was clocking out for the day.

slinging his bag over his arm, he was met with a calloused palm fixed onto his shoulder blade. he turns, and yep- the big guy.

"get some rest, you seem off your game."

the grouch's voice was unusually sincere, and it almost made ronin's gaze soften before the older man gave him an overly enthusiastic tussle of the hair.

"you're still young. sleep is important for you."

he's eyeing the light bags beneath his eyes and ronin could tell, but he only shrugged and gave a sloppy salute in return.

"yeah yeah, no kiddin', i'll be on my 'best' behavior next time. see ya later, old timer."

the gruff man stiffly nodded, immediately disappearing into the busy background as ronin turned and headed for the door.

as soon as the bell overhead chimed, he padded in his passcode and opened his messenger app, pleased to see the '3' icon bubbled besides your nickname.

[writer Darlin']

-'Sadly, my heart is still beating 😭'

-'agent's on my ass so I've been writing another piece for as long as I can whilst the hype is still high'

-'wouldja put me outta my misery?'

and there comes that feeling again, the staticky unease that bleeds into his cheeks, that flows in his chest and even shows through the light tremble of his fingers.

and then the obnoxious twist of his lips, the smile that weaves itself thick and heavy on his lower jaw that he can't seem to rip off, and he steps a bit slower through the sidewalk.

-'nah, i think I'll let ya Suffer a bit longer...'

-'besides, what's a devil to do Without entertainment?'

at this rate, you're probably rolling your eyes out of your own skull because of him, and he'd want nothing less.

[writer Darlin']

-'damn, cruel. shouldn't have expected the devil to be my savior anyway, guess I'll have to ask a sweetheart like Angel to smite me instead of your lame ass 🙄'

as soon as your reply dropped, he responded. no, not out of jealousy or anything stupid like that, but c'mon, be honest with yourself.

-'you've already got Lucifer himself staring over your shoulder, don'tcha think you're being selfish by hoarding all of the Divine power?'

he knows he's being a little shit, but that's just how he is when it comes to his best buds.

he's scrolling through your previous text messages, and it's enough to put a strain over his heartstrings. it's always a dance with you, and he wouldn't have it any other w-

...he nearly walks into a street light.

awkwardly shoving his phone back into his pocket, he decided to worry about getting home alive without some random slip-up ending in his death or worse.

yikes- yeah, he just needs a good kill and a few more hours of rest, and everything will go back to normal. that's all he needs.

...did you respond to his text yet?

maybe ronin was back to his usual self, because after going home and cleaning up, he felt like a new man.

it could've just been ridding himself of the grease and powder from his workplace, or maybe it was the thrill seeping its way back into his bones as he ran a finger over the cold, heavy iron of his crowbar.

changing back into his usual aesthetic helped too, reds and blacks with accents of silver coating him from head to toe, devil horns peeking atop the grey and black fabric of his beanie.

now that he's in uniform, pep flooded his step as he threaded his blackened nails through the silk of his hair, sliding out through his front door and into the night.

who's going to be his lucky pick for today?

he found his victim rather quickly.

greasy brown hair hung in uneven clumps around his sunken face, a pair of bloodshot eyes, watery and half-lidded, scanned the street with a predatory gleam, glinting with something both lazy and lecherous.

and each time a woman pedalled by, presumably hoping to get home before the night sky blackened further, his lips would curl into a crooked grin.

his targets were few and far between, but he made sure that every one of them knew that he had a mouthful of things to say about them right off the bat.

...no matter how young they looked.

it was almost funny, he wanted a victim and he found the best candidate as soon as he set out searching. who'd miss a scumbag like him? uptown needs their savior, after all.

it's more than enough to warrant bashing his head in for the night, and the perfect opportunity to clear his own in the meantime.

the narrow walls of the alley were slicked with grime and shadows. overhead, a single flickering street light was trying its' best to illuminate the corner with its green-hued flare.

its dying glow cast over the alley, draping its rickety textures in a haunting atmosphere- fitting, given that ronin had doused these walls with blood before.

the pavement was littered with crumpled newspapers, shattered glass, and puddles of murky water that reeked of decay. a nauseating stench hung heavy in the air- a blend of rotting food, damp mold, and something metallic and sour, like old blood.

scraping his crowbar along the exposed pipes decorating the filthy path, he tapped it against the dingy metal, once, twice- until finally, the scumbag turns his head, yellow teeth fixed into a scowl.

got him.

ronin's fingers flexed around the warming iron of his trusty weapon, before lifting it and raking its teeth against the brittle brick, a sound akin to nails on a chalkboard grating through the stale air.

"cut that shit out," a low snarl, warning, biting, even. the man's now leaning uneasily over his own two feet, glass bottle tight within the drunk's grasp.

ronin whistled out a long, sharp burst, dragging his tool against the cracked concrete, glass occasionally crunching under his platforms.

"you wanna go, asshole?" the pig snarled, vocal cords strummed with copious amounts of alcohol and mucus as his wrist wiped over his running nose.

the drunken bravado of this prick is more than enough to have ronin's fingers itching to burrow through his abdomen- to wreak havoc across this bastard's body and let him know what hell truly looks like.

the drunkard's now storming towards ronin, almost tripping over his own shoes as he slung slurred words and insults towards him.

little did he know, he was just luring him deeper within the emptied twists and turns of the alley, just to ensure that he gets enough time to hear him scream without any unneeded innocents stopping by and getting an eyeful of gore beyond their wildest nightmares.

eventually, the lone streetlight stopped its' flickering, dimming into a low hum buzz as its' glow grew weaker and weaker- and finally into pitch black.

how well can a drunk man see in the darkness?

it was the same routine. wash, rinse, repeat. mangle the disfigured body into whatever position he wanted and splatter the newly-killed man's innards all over the alley concrete for all to judge.

but the experience was....rather lacking. he barely had a taste of the rush, of the adrenaline rushing through his veins. it died out quickly, and he's right back to thinking of you as he slips through the night and right back into his sanctuary.

[goreboy] 04:06

-'hey Angel is cupid Also an Angel?'

[Angelic] 04:07

-'Well that's a lot of capitalization, especially with the A's but I don't think so? I think he's some god or something in Greek mythology, but I'm not too sure. Why?'

[goreboy] 04:07

-'you two have wings Good enough'

-'tell him to fuck off please and Thanks!'

-'and hey, you know i can't resist that Sweet sweet alliteration.'

[Angelic] 04:07

'How do I deal with you...'

'But wait wait wait, what does that mean? Cupid?'

he feels instant regret- he shouldn't be texting or ranting or whatever the fuck he's doing to angel right now. she's got her own shit going on, and he's skipping like a school girl in a field of daisies- well, preferably bodies, over the thought of...

you. god, it makes his heart hurt. why? how would he know?

he has to hunt you down for this- you definitely cast some weird spell on him to make him feel this strongly for whatever reason and it's absolutely destroying him.

sure, he cares about you, deeply. you're really close and he enjoys being around you, but he didn't know that hanging out with you a couple of times would amount to...this.

and now he's spiraling inside of his own head, falling apart at the seams so easily, and he doesn't even know why.

[goreboy] 04:13

-'oh god bless my bleeding Heart'

-'...'

-'it's Nothing.'

[Angelic] 04:13

'Ronin, is there something going on?'

being sardonically impulsive was a trait that rarely bit ronin in the ass, especially when his instincts were usually sharp, but when it did- it wasn't a fun time.

tucking his head in a bandage-draped palm, he dangled his fingers over the keyboard, only for them to hang motionlessly.

what does he even say to that? "i'm falling in love with one of my best friends and for the first time i'm too much of a pussy to admit it! woe is me!" give him a break.

[Angelic] 04:16

-'You don't have to tell me anything, but if there's anything going on, you know you have a safe place with me, no matter how irritating you are.'

-'Regardless, you really should sit down and just process anything that could be troubling you. Get some sleep in and see how you feel in the morning about everything, y'know?'

'-And if it's cupid related, I don't mind playing matchmaker. 🤍'

ronin couldn't help the smile creeping up on his lips. it helped, y'know? remembering that he had someone in his corner who he could confide in when things got heavy.

[goreboy] 04:17

-'Noted'

-'...'

-'thanks. for y'know, Everything.'

-'and that last bit seems rather Interesting despite the fact that you're basically a Lamer version of cupid'

[Angelic] 04:18

-'I hate you oh so very much 😭'

a dry chuckle vibrates through his chest, and he's shutting off his computer, letting the screen fade to black.

she's right, though. instead of moping in self pity, he should sleep on it, maybe even pray that he won't feel anything for you when the sun rises and he gets out of bed.

he lazily sets his phone on his nightstand, not bothering to plug it up before he had a double take, hitting the power button and reading the numbers in bold.

"4:20 AM."

didn't he say something about getting more sleep?

shit.

he wished he could say that sleep did something for him in the grand scheme of things...

it did little to nothing, especially with the time he went to sleep. now he's restless, maybe a tad manic, and driving himself absolutely mad at the thought of you.

god, it feels as though his teeth are about to fall straight out of their sockets- and not just because he's been slapping himself dumb around his room all night.

he's been thinking- way, way, way, way too much. thinking about his feelings, what he wants, if there's a possibility of you feeling anything too, if you want him too.

further in the day, he thought that perhaps a drink or two will smooth the rough edges, shut his brain up enough for him to do the usual, but after a glass, or two...maybe three, he wasn't getting any closer to salvation.

he still thinks about it- those rare times that you've two hung out and you would casually slink an arm over him or play with his hair as you two binged another horror franchise. the times where he'd turn to watch your reaction at a movie heavily relying on shock value and how you'd scoot a little closer to him after it.

was he just imagining that? did your heart beat no faster at the idea of being closer to him? was all of this normal for you? whenever you went outside to do something simple, like checking the mail, did you not spot something that reminded you of him?

because as he's trailing down the countless alleyways he has memorized like the back of his hand, everything he looks at sends his mind into a blurry fuzz of everything you.

he didn't even notice the storm clouds rolling in, and the low grumble of faraway thunder did little to dissuade him from traveling farther from home, despite his lack of jacket or umbrella.

he felt like a stray dog wandering the streets with a maw full of bleeding rot, looking for something to devour that'll push the feeling down.

but there's nothing to do to push it down, to cast it out of sight and out of mind, and he's too full of feelings that he doesn't know what to do with-

should he pick out another kill for him to waste his time on?

normally, that'd be something he'd consider, something he'd chase out and bide his time on until the adrenaline, the rush, the high- would hopefully push you out of mind.

but he knows it'll just fail, like it did the day before.

the sky's weeping heavier at this point, and he's just now wringing out the black fabric of his shirt, drenched beyond relief at this rate.

he shrugs it off like it's whatever, as if the thunder and fat raindrops pummeling down on him was nothing more than an inconvenience, and he decides to retreat back home for the day.

each stride through the darkening streets feel almost weightless as he trails down the empty sidewalks, and it's right there.

his sanctuary.

except he turns the doorknob and it's... locked.

a frown bags over his lower jaw, and he tries it again. nope, locked.

and then a hollered "i'll be right there!" muffles behind the door. wait, what?

he looks forward, noticing the unfamiliar 'welcome!' rug at the doors front steps, and the change in scenery around him.

the door opens, and before he can hot tail it out of there, you're peeking out from behind the frame, and your brows furrow.

fuck, he's so screwed.

did he really self sabotage himself so badly in his drunken stupor that he walked to your front door instead of his?

because now he gets to see you- in person. and he doesn't know if he can handle that right now, if he can stand face to face with you knowing how his heartbeat quickens at the sound of your voice, nonetheless seeing you right before him.

you're motionless for a second, eyes beading over his form in a vertical line before you craned the door wide open, a mix of concern and confusion etched onto your face and he sobered up at the sight immediately.

don't you see that you're opening the front door to the worst person right now? fuck, why did you decide to answer? you shouldn't have, you really, really shouldn't have.

it felt like he was dying of embarrassment, and death had never felt so foreign and uneasy in his chest as he gave you a nervous grin.

"uh, hey."

his voice was dry and nearly died out as soon as the words left his lips, a faint crack ending off of his awkward greeting.

and suddenly, he could feel the way his pants weighed more than usual and how his shirt stuck uncomfortably close to his skin, fat raindrops still pummeling him under the dark sky.

"is it...normal, for you to be standing in the pouring rain?"

it was a jab, a friendly one at that, but your lighthearted words were simultaneously laced with...shock? surprise? maybe pity?

he pulled at his collar, sheepishly rubbing at the nape of his neck as water trickled down against his spine, causing a shiver to stream through him.

"uh, yeah-yep. y'know, just, uh...getting some fresh air."

getting fresh air in the middle of a thunderstorm? yeah, right. he was hoping to lean into the dry humor of it all and maybe crack a smile out of you that would allow him to brush past the inevitable 'what the fuck are you doing here?' question, but fate said otherwise.

"well, maybe you should come inside? i mean-you're soaked and the night's only gonna get darker."

immediate no. he cannot let himself step through your doorway, he cannot delve between the walls that's everything...you. that's the LAST thing he needs right now, last thing he should surround himself with.

you tug at the wet fabric of one of his sleeves, as if trying to guide him into the warmth of your home, but he only nails his palms over the ridges of your doorframe, enabling him still.

"no, i'd rather stay riiiight here, thank you."

you side eyed the worsening weather at his back and grazed your pupils over to his, staring at him as if he said something funny.

"ronin-"

"'m fine where i stand, thanks darlin'."

you frown, your brow raised strictly as if you were about to scold him, but you held your tongue for whatever reason, as if you could tell that he really didn't want to step inside.

"fine, but if you get a cold and i have to take care of your ass, don't tell me i didn't warn you."

is it bad that the scenario doesn't sound too bad to him?

his heart's working against him in ways he never knew it could, and before he could shut himself up, he's leaning further towards you, eyelids heavy and irises locked onto yours.

"you'd take care of me if i were sick?"

he didn't realize how desperate he was coming across, but when he heard the immediate drop in his tone and the lack of crypt in his voice, he felt a flutter in his chest. fuck, you're killing him.

the attitude slathered all over your face phases over, shifting into light solemn as you cross your arms, giving a small nod.

"yeah, of course. i care about you,"

fuck, you're killing him!

"-you're one of my bestest friends, after all."

oh my god, put him out of his misery already!

he's never rolled his eyes harder, he could've sworn he saw the man on the cross himself for a moment and he could've set on his knees as a believer right then and there.

maybe he should ask for the lord to strike him down here and now, and hopefully with enough repentance he'll die on the spot.

unluckily for him, you noticed his reaction, the way his head turned and his x'ed out pupils narrowed and slid out of view. the way his head veered away from you and his nostrils flared momentarily.

now you're curious, and you already know what happens to those who question things they probably shouldn't. curiosity killed the cat, 'n all.

"well, you have something to say, yeah? this is the first time i've seen satan himself shivering, so should i assume that hell finally froze over?"

the jest in your voice was unmistakable, but so was the genuine undertone of your question. he wished he could turn you away and soothe your curiosity with a toothy grin that told you all you needed to hear-

but with how he's standing ahead of you like a deer in headlights, he'd reckon that it wouldn't do much to salvage this situation.

"i don't," he began, only to slap a hand over his face with his index and middle fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

"i, i can't, it's..."

he drawls off, and he can feel it, the excuses longing to claw their way out of the confines of his throat, the overwhelming need to escape your gaze, and the hesitation churning in his abdomen.

"wow, whatever the hell you're going on about is really fucking you up, huh?"

you weren't wrong. this was definitely out of character, especially for ronin out of all people.

you clicked your tongue, rolling it over your teeth as you mentally noted the slight tremor in his body.

"are you...sure you don't want to come in?"

your voice falls on deaf ears, he's too absorbed in it all, in everything you do down to the smallest things. it's embarrassing, really, the dilation of his pupils following the view of your tongue running over the angle of your canines.

the sight should strike terror into his bones and he knows it. he should be running for the hills at this point - what can he even do to tilt the odds in his favor?

and yeah, he's fucking horrified. horrified at the way that his face doesn't pale in fear, but hazes over with the lightest pink. horrified at the way his heartstrings tense and pull, as if his heart was trying to ruthlessly beat itself out of its' bindings.

you're the scariest thing he's come across. the careless ruffle of your hair, the rosy pigment blotched over your bottom lip, and that...casual look in your eye. the way light dances and reflects in your irises like the prettiest firework show he's ever seen.

you're bad. really fucking bad for him, you're the worst thing he's laid eyes on, and he knows it once your head tilts in confusion and his gut wrangles high into his throat. what the fuck are you doing to him? do you know what the fuck you're doing to him?

you're probably deeper in the pits of hell than he is, and that's saying something. you're dangerous! akin to some monstrosity that the likes of man couldn't even fathom.

he was wrong for questioning your lack of survival instincts when you opened the door for him, he should've been questioning his own when he wandered to your front door like a lamb to the slaughter.

instead of having your aorta between his fingers, you have his wrangled between yours, and you don't even fucking know it.

the crackle of thunder right down the street is enough to wake him from his internal monologue, and he realizes that you're basically shaking him dry, snapping your fingers before him in a pitiful attempt to 'wake him up'.

"jesus christ," you heave, and you're grabbing him by the wrists, the heat of your fingers locking around his pulse burned his cheeks into a brighter shade of pink that, for once, made him look more alive than corpse.

"ronin, talk to me. tell me what's going on, please, you're not acting like yourself, and that says something."

the sound of his lifeline thumps heavy in his eardrums, even as he digs his teeth into the crackled, slightly bloodied mess of his bottom lip. he can feel the random, morbid variations of everything he's been feeling coursing through his veins.

they taste odd, unbalanced over the piercing on his tongue, and he doesn't even know how to describe it himself. fuck it, he's here right now, he needs to do something about these feelings while they're still fresh and bleeding, but all the ideas garble up into pathetic word vomit once he gets a hold of them.

he's eyeing the wet glisten of your lash line, and he notices you're now, too, partially in the rain. the hands holding his wrists now interlocked with his, fingers crisscrossing over one another.

he's thinking about it all; the times you've shared, ranging from your hangouts to your gaming sessions, and they all were...

perfectly imperfect.

yeah, the time you two went out for ice cream and not even two steps away from the truck, your scoops splattered all over the pavement. or the last time you guys hung out over at his place and blackjack- his pet rat, started nibbling on your fingers and you nearly dropped the damned thing.

nothing ever seemed to go as planned when your paths crossed. it was as if the gods themselves conspired to curse your time together, weaving misfortune into every interaction, a twisted, modern-day version of romeo and juliet. yet, no matter how things unraveled, the night would always end the same: with laughter, warmth, and the unmistakable feeling that none of it mattered as long as you were together.

the stupidest shit could happen on the days that you've planned to see each other on, and no matter what, you two would find a way to work it out, without fail.

standing here now, would telling you ruin everything that's been? divide you two back on your separate roads, the way fate wants it to be?

he's tired of guessing.

twisting black painted nails around the width of your hand, he moves your palm up to the plain of his chest, and your brows raise. he lays it close to his collarbone, but far down enough that the flat of your hand meets the rapid thudding in his body.

"feel how fast my heart's beating?"

you nod.

"would'ja drive a stake through it? spare me my autonomy, quiet the rhythm in my ears and leave me no longer breathing?"

he's closer to you now, the x's in his pupils trailing your every feature, taking in the way your cheeks flush and your lids lower.

"would you consider that mercy? no longer needing to confront your emotions?"

he gives you the slightest smile at your response, the void in his gaze sucking you in as he lays a thumb under the curve of your lower lids, brushing over your cheekbone, smearing a few water droplets across your cheek.

"who wouldn't? that's the beauty in being human, in feeling all these...things. gives us so many weaknesses, so many flaws, but so, so much to discover."

he's almost grinning ear to ear at the sight of your eye twitching irritably, a tight lipped smile spread on your face as you huff. he can tell you want him to get to the point.

so he will.

"ronin, stop all the cryptic talk. just, tell me what's going o-"

"i'm in love with you."

and the warmth pumping through your cheeks increased by tenfold, for a moment, the cogs in your brain just... stalled. you blinked, once, twice, staring at him like he'd just spoke in a language you didn't know.

"wait... what?" the words tumbled out before you could stop them, a mix of confusion and disbelief your words.

"you... you like me?"

"did i stutter?"

"no, no, i-i just...like, like like me?"

it was adorable; how doubting you were, your words almost frantic. and it wasn't in a 'ew, you like me?' type of manner, it was more of a 'oh my god, you like me? me!?' way.

he now has both of his hands cupping your face, thumbing along the corner of your lips and you're even warmer- or maybe it's just because he's drenched in rain water and you're only slightly damp.

"is there somethin' wrong with me for likin' you?"

and just like that, the tables turned. you're the one who's flustered and trying to explain yourself while he's just smug watching your panicked display with a grin.

"no! no, it's just- i'm...dumbfounded. i mean, i didn't really see it coming. are you...sure?"

he's more than 100% sure, but if you need some more convincing, he doesn't mind.

"want me to prove it to ya?"

his jaw's already nearing yours and a low timbre wedges in the tangle of his vocal chords, words sweet and curious.

his question was rhetorical- he knew you wanted him to, and your irises giving his lips a quick glance confirmed it.

"well? i'm waiting in the wings."

you give a slow nod, hands running up to the broadness of his shoulders before he dipped forward and...

the soft pout of your bottom lip met the cracked surface of his, and it couldn't have been more perfect, the trailing of your fingers rising through the soaked locks sticking to his skin. you're warm, really warm, and he doesn't want to let you go.

and suddenly he can breathe again, the tension compressed in his body releasing all at once, he, for one, finally feels free at the maddening press of your skin to his.

the faint taste of alcohol dances between you two, and your tongue gives a light swipe over his bottom lip in response to it, as if trying to get a better taste.

have you come from the abyssal sky above to grace him salvation? to save him from the endless pits of his own sin? to cut him apart with gentle hands, to dissect him with hushed promises of alleviating the burning ache in his chest?

because the warm cradle of your embrace sets his soul alight, and he's burning up like a dry weed catching the first sparks of summer's relentless rays.

it's been so long since he was last touched like this. since he's had someone to cradle, someone to hold, to kiss, to love.

he's been saved by you, and not in the biblical sense, no, he's damned no matter how you look at it. but he no longer feels lost, no longer yearning, craving something he thinks he can't have.

eventually, you have to pull away, his arms still slung over the dip of your back, and yours still around the nape of his neck.

"whaddya say? wanna be my partner in crime?"

you cringe, your nose scrunching in utter distaste at his title for you and you pitch a playful whack on his chest, a curl lingering on your lips.

"were you always this cheesy?"

he's about to respond with a teasing quip back, but then-

"ah-achoo!" his head pivots away from you and into the crease of his elbow, sneezing into his arm and he sniffles quietly.

"i uh, might have to take you up on that offer you proposed earlier?"

"see! i told you!"

----

hi teehee thanks for reading sorry this definitely sucks ass in some parts bc i rushed this last minute, lots of things here were just made up/headcanons about his character

i....i finished editing it....2000 words officially brought back from the dead...i couldn't have done it without the power of friendship ‼️

#killer chat #ronin beaufort #kc!#killer chat ronin #ronin #visual novel #x reader #ronin beaufort x reader #my fallen valentines

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