chanelgrll

[chanelgrll]

Could you please do Ronin taking care of a reader who caught the flu or something similar (just sick!reader in general haha)?? I love your works and how closely you write Ronin to the source material! <3

A/N: aaaaa thank you so much!!! <3

You’re Breathing Wrong (But I Guess I’ll Let It Slide)

You didn't remember falling asleep on the couch.

You definitely didn't remember Ronin carrying you to bed, though the ache in your bones told you you'd been moved, maybe a few times as he fussed with blankets and temperature controls you vaguely registered as too hot, then too cold, then too everything.

You wake again to the clink of something ceramic and a muffled curse. "Shit."

You try to respond but your throat makes a noise between a whimper and a dying animal. You settle for blinking at him again. He sighs.

Fifteen minutes later, you're still horizontal and thoroughly miserable, but now you’ve got a glass of water, two cold meds, a damp towel on your forehead, and, possibly the most shocking part of all, a bowl of instant noodles. The good kind, too. Not the ones you bought in bulk for emergencies, but the ones Ronin always hides in the back of the cabinet like a dragon hoarding spicy treasure.

“You’re giving me your good ramen?” you croak, voice rasping against your sore throat.

He shrugs, dropping onto the armchair like his joints are optional. “Figured it’d be your last meal.”

You snort, and then immediately regret it as it turns into a coughing fit. Ronin glances over, eyebrows drawn.

“Christ. You sound like a haunted accordion.”

You wheeze out a laugh anyway. He looks half-proud of the line.

Eventually, you manage to slurp down some broth and nibble a few noodles, though you don’t get far before your arms feel too heavy to lift the bowl. Ronin’s watching from across the room, one foot propped up on the coffee table, arms crossed.

“You’re doing that thing,” you mutter between sips.

“What thing?”

“The… looking at me like I’m about to break thing.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he says, voice dry. “I’m just trying to figure out whether I should take out your enemies while you’re down or let them have a sporting chance.”

A wheezy laugh escapes you before it turns into a cough, your whole body curling up with the force of it. He’s there instantly, one hand at your back, the other grabbing tissues and lifting the soup out of splash range.

“Okay, okay—slow down. Jesus. You’re like a dying ferret.”

You try to flip him off. Your hand barely twitches.

“Wow. Powerful.” He adjusts the cloth on your forehead again with unexpected gentleness. “Don’t get up. Drink this.” He puts a cup of water to your mouth, and helps you drink it. He then brushes the hair out of your eyes with the back of his hand, and presses the thermometer under your tongue. He doesn’t say anything when he sees the number, but his frown deepens. You know what he’s thinking.

“I’ll live,” you mumble.

Ronin snorts. “Don’t jinx it. I already promised your ghost I’d keep the apartment clean.”

You let your eyes flutter shut, the warmth of his hand at your temple enough to lull you halfway into sleep again. But then you feel him shift. Pull away. You reach out.

Your hand finds the hem of his jacket and tugs, weak and awkward. He stills.

“…Stay,” you whisper.

There’s a long pause. He’s quiet for so long you think maybe he didn’t hear you—or that he’s going to say something sarcastic—but then you feel the mattress shift.

He climbs in next to you, above the covers, just close enough that your knees bump. You feel the weight of his arm settle beside your head. Not touching you directly—he’s always careful like that, especially when you’re vulnerable—but he’s close. Tangible. Warm in a way that doesn’t suffocate.

“…This doesn’t mean I want your germs,” he mutters.

You make a small, amused noise.

“You always act like you’re so tough,” you murmur. “But you made me soup.”

“Shut up.”

“You tucked me in.”

“Shut up.”

You smile.

“Bet you even kissed my forehead while I was asleep.”

His hand twitches like he’s deciding whether to shove you off the bed. You grin wider. You know you're right.

“I should’ve let you marinate in fever dreams,” he grumbles. “Let you hallucinate your way through the week.”

“You love me,” you whisper sleepily, triumphant.

He doesn’t say anything. You drift in and out of sleep after that, fever dragging you under and shaking you around like a snow globe. Sometimes you dream. Sometimes you just hallucinate that Ronin is talking to you in the form of a large crow on the windowsill. But between the blurs of light and sound, there are moments. Moments of warmth and quiet.

Ronin adjusting the blanket over your shoulders. Picking up the tissues you dropped. Sitting on the floor beside the couch, back against the armrest, humming low under his breath. Not music. Just something to fill the silence. At one point, when the sun’s gone down and you’re too weak to hold a glass on your own, he holds it to your lips without a word and waits until you finish drinking.

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he mutters afterward.

Your lips curve in a faint smile. “Tell them what?”

“That I’m not letting you die horribly.”

“I’d never snitch,” you whisper.

He grunts. “Better not. I’ve got a reputation.” The next morning, you're barely any better, but you wake up tucked under Ronin’s arm. You’re pretty sure he ended up there by accident. His fingers twitch when you stir, like they’re unsure whether to withdraw or cling harder. His mouth moves like he wants to complain but can’t find the energy to do it.

“You’re still breathing,” he mumbles.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Don’t be.” He squeezes you briefly, like a secret. “I don’t think I could make good noodles again if you weren’t around to call me dramatic.”

You hum. “You are dramatic.”

“Shut up and die quieter.”

But he doesn’t let go.

And you don’t die.

[chanelgrll]

Hiii!! I was thinking like Ronin with a reader who’s a scare actor at like a theme park or some sort of horror attraction and he shows up one night either to scare them or join in on scaring people with them

I’m in the Halloween spirit and it’s only June 😔😔

A/N: Guys I had sm fun writing this (Ronin joins in on scaring people)

The Devil you know

You’re used to being the one who terrifies people.

That’s kind of the point of your job. Five nights a week at “Nightmare Hollow,” the local haunted maze theme park, dressed in layers of blood-soaked tulle and prosthetics, your face warped with latex and blackened teeth. You crawl out of coffins. You lunge from behind curtains. You scream, cackle, whisper nonsense in guests’ ears until they sprint into the fog like their lives depend on it.

It’s good money. Better adrenaline. And you’ve always had the upper hand. You know the layout, the light cues, the hiding spots. You can smell fear. You live in it, twist inside it, let it bleed under your skin like war paint.

Which is why you’re not prepared tonight, when someone breaks your rules.

The shift starts normally. You clock in. Hit makeup. Tuck a fake eye under your prosthetic cheek. Your boots get strapped. You’re placed in The Blood Nursery, third hallway past the spinning corridor, just after the chainsaw clown zone. You crouch in your usual spot under the crib, watching strobe light patterns flash overhead. The screams come like clockwork, rising and falling as guests run from one horror to the next.

You love it.

You love the rhythm. The drama. The way people sprint from you like they’ve seen the face of death, when really it’s just you behind half a pound of liquid latex and a ripped-up baby doll strapped to your back.

You texted Ronin earlier, during the break between zones.

<you> all i do is scare grown men for $15/hr

<goreboy> so like being in a relationship with me

Fair. You snorted into your prosthetics and said nothing back. He’s not much for sweet talk, but you knew he meant it: a little impressed, a little amused, more than a little unhinged. He never visits your job, though. Not his thing. At least, that’s what you thought.

Until you see someone move off-schedule.

You’re mid-lunge toward a bachelorette party when you catch it, a flicker of movement past the crib, someone slipping through a staff exit they shouldn’t be near. No radio in hand. No glow stick. No staph vest. Just… movement. Graceful. Deliberate. Almost playful.

You pause, frown, and duck back under the crib. Five minutes pass. Another group screams by. You jump out, shriek in their faces, send them screaming. They don’t notice the man behind them.

But you do. He’s tall. Broad shoulders. Covered in a long black coat, with a skeletal mask pulled over his face and fake blood staining the collar. He’s not on the cast sheet. And he’s watching you. Not the guests.

You.

Your spine prickles. You almost radio security, until the figure tilts his head. Just enough for the mask to shift. Just enough for you to see the eyes underneath. Familiar. Dark. Smiling.

“…Ronin?”

He lifts a single gloved finger to his lips and vanishes around the corner. You blink. Then curse. The next hour is war. You don’t get a break to chase him, there’s a line of terrified teenagers out front and your role’s too central to leave. But you catch glimpses of him. Slipping between curtains. Sneaking into other actors’ zones. Pretending to be a mannequin and scaring the piss out of two frat bros. You hear a staffer yell “WHO THE HELL WAS THAT?!” as Ronin bolts out of a strobe-lit hallway, laughing.

The bastard’s infiltrated the maze.

And worst of all... he’s good at it.

He’s fast. Quiet. His costume somehow fits the theme perfectly, a vintage-looking devil getup, sleek black and blood-red with a subtle glint of gold at the throat. His face is hidden behind a beautifully grotesque half-mask with curling horns, but his voice? You’d know that voice anywhere.

Low. Dry. Cutting. You hear him mutter something to a guest as he leads them into a dead end. Something like-

“...We all die in the dark, sweetheart. Might as well enjoy the walk there.” You swear that girl faints.

And you? You’re trying not to melt. Or kill him. Possibly both. You catch up to him at the fog tunnel. He doesn’t even look surprised when you grab him by the wrist and yank him behind the black curtain. “What the hell are you doing here?” you hiss, heart pounding.

Ronin grins beneath the devil mask. “Just visiting,” he says innocently. “Thought I’d see my darlin' at work.”

“In full costume?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

You want to scream. Or kiss him. “You’re not allowed back here. You could get kicked out. I could get fired.”

“Mm.” He tugs one of your fake bloody ribbons loose from your costume and twirls it around his finger. “Then maybe we should make it worth it.”

“Ronin—!”

He cups a hand behind your neck, leans close. “You looked hot scaring the hell out of those guys in Zone 2. I was proud.”

“...You’re ridiculous.”

“Probably,” he agrees, nudging his masked forehead against yours. “So. You wanna team up? Or do I keep stealing your kills?” You glare at him. Then sigh. Then smile.

“Fine,” you say. “But if security chases you out, I’m not helping.” He laughs.

You and Ronin are unholy together. It starts small. He lingers in your zone while you go full banshee on a group of screaming teenagers, only for him to appear behind them as they run, dragging a fake axe and whispering nonsense in a growl that has one of them nearly trip.

In the asylum corridor, you take turns hiding behind gurneys. You pop out first, driving the group forward, only for Ronin to ambush them from the front with a sharp bark and a slam of the stretcher. One guy falls flat on his back screaming. You both snort and vanish behind the curtains again.

At one point, you turn and find him adjusting his horns in a cracked mirror in the makeup hallway. The light glints off the devil mask, gold lining catching the shadows, and for a moment, you forget it’s a costume. He looks up at you through the reflection. “You’re glowing,” he says, casual.

You blink. “I’m covered in fake blood.”

“Still.”

Your cheeks warm under your prosthetics. You duck your head. “You look like a demon.” He steps behind you. Wraps his arms around your waist. His gloved hands press against the bones of your corset.

“Then I guess we match.”

By closing time, your voice is hoarse and your ribs hurt from laughing. Your coworkers all assume Ronin’s a new hire, someone the director pulled last-minute to boost the fear factor. You don’t correct them. You’re too busy watching him in your periphery, moving like a shadow in the smoke. No one suspects. Except you. He’s too fast. Too quiet. He doesn’t play by the rules of the maze.

And when he sneaks up behind you in the chainsaw hallway, grabs your hips, and growls in your ear, “Time to die, sugar,” you do scream, just once.

He doubles over laughing. “You’re such an asshole,” you mutter, punching his arm. “You scared me.”

“Exactly,” he says. “Fair’s fair.” You stay late to clean off your makeup. Ronin waits outside the dressing room with a stolen candy apple and a devilish smirk. You walk out in your hoodie and jeans, eyes still ringed with black. He’s lounging on a bench, mask tucked under his arm, half-eaten apple in hand. His horns are tilted slightly sideways, giving him the look of someone who got in a fight with a gargoyle and won.

You drop beside him. He hands you the last bite without a word. You take it. “You’re insane,” you say around the sticky crunch.

“Mm,” he agrees. “But I make a great devil, don’t I?” You side-eye him. Then lean your head on his shoulder.

“You didn’t have to come,” you murmur.

“Sure I did,” he says, quiet now. “Had to see what you look like when you’re in your element.”

“And?”

He kisses your forehead. Just once. Gentle. “You’re terrifying,” he says. “It’s beautiful.” That night, he drives you home in silence. One hand on the wheel. The other curled between your thighs, warm over your jeans, just to keep you tethered. You fall asleep halfway through the ride. Dried blood still under your nails. Laughter still caught in your throat.

And you dream of black hallways and devil eyes. But this time, the monster at the end of the maze isn’t chasing you.

He’s holding your hand.

[chanelgrll]

Do you have any topics other than noncon you don’t feel comfortable writing about? Just wanted to double check before I send anything in!! 💕

Hi! I'm so glad you asked, I'll put out a pretty detailed list justtt in case, but most revolve around what kind of NSFW stuff I don't feel comfy writing ab. so other than noncon any sort of like heavy controversial topics, sexualization of minors or large age-gap romance with power imbalance, overt misogyny, dehumanizing kinks, glorification of abuse, fetishization of mental illness or trauma, in$est, p$dophilia, n$crophilia, or anything illegal/harmful, CNC content, extremely public NSFW, using children, animals, or mentally ill characters as props for horror or tragedy, depicting bigotry (racism, ableism, homophobia, etc.) as edgy, sa (anything revolving sa whether it's towards the reader or another character), sexualizing unequal power dynamics (minor/adult, student/teacher), sexual violence for shock value Note that even if I forgot to list something, I still have the right to decline an ask if I do not feel comfortable to write it (or if I feel that it's not my place to write about it. I doubt many people would consider asking prompts about those butttt I've gotten 2-3 asks that have included something in this list so it doesn't hurt to put out there!

[chanelgrll]

Domestic Ronin and Reader fic or relationship hcs?? I imagine after being in a relationship with him for a while he’s able to be a bit more vulnerable and soft w/them (by his standards at least). I need more Ronin fluff lowk (only if you feel up to writing this ofc) 🫶

A/N: oh I've been so ready for this hehehee, I'll have hcs at the top and a little one shot below

I'd guess he’s not used to having someone else in his space, especially after ther and angel. At first, he was more tense, subtly hiding it from you. But you started leaving little things, hair clips, clothing, plushies, the occasional note. Now he catches himself checking the bed out of habit when you’re not in it. Probably lays on your side when you're not home

He doesn’t say “I love you” often, but he always shows it. Cutting fruit for you while you’re half-asleep, keeping your side of the bed warm if you get up, fixing the door that creaks even though you never asked

He’s the type to stand behind you while you brush your teeth, arms loosely around your waist, just watching in the mirror, resting his chin on the top of your head.

If you fall asleep on the couch, he never wakes you. He covers you with a blanket, then sits nearby, cleaning a knife, doing nothing. He likes hearing you breathe (proof of life)

When it comes to Ronin being more vulnerable, you find him sitting on the floor sometimes, just still. You sit with him without asking why. Sometimes he’ll take your hand, sometimes he just leans against your thigh and breathes. There are nights he clings tighter in his sleep, face buried in your neck. You don’t ask what happened, just hold him

You pick something dumb to watch, and he complains, “This is brainrot.” but he stays. You end up laying with your legs across his lap, and halfway through, he starts absently rubbing the back of your hand like it’s second nature

When he comes home fresh after a kill drenched in blood, you don't freak out. You lather shampoo through his hair, wash his back. Blood circles the drain like old sins, and he appreciates how you don't try to fix him and just quietly help him clean up

He doesn't feel like he has to clean himself before touching you, something he always did in the past for others

If you can’t fall asleep, he’ll talk quietly about anything. Where he traveled last, talks about his most recent kill, speaks in that poetic way. Anything to keep you at peace

Whenever he wakes up before you he doesn't wake you up, but listens to you breathe, running his fingers through your hair and listen to your heartbeat

Speaking of which, when he's going through something or feeling down, feeling your pulse or listening to you heart beating is something really grounding for him

He’s surprisingly good with a knife in the kitchen (of course). Chops vegetables like he’s defusing a bomb. He makes really simple food like eggs, rice, pan-seared meat

He always knows where your things are. Even when you don’t. You ask where something is and he immediately tells you without looking up, it's almost like he has a sixth sense but he just pays really close attention to you

Another way for him to say he loves you is threatening to kill anyone who hurts you (what's a serial killer without the killing?)

Rain tapped the windows, gray light spilled across the room in soft drapes. The sheets smelled like sleep and warmth, twisted loosely around the limbs of two people who had nowhere else to be.

You stirred first, barely. Your cheek rested against Ronin’s chest, skin to skin, heartbeat steady beneath your ear. The weight of his arm across your back was grounding, his hand curved over your spine like it had always belonged there. Outside, the storm whispered through the world. Inside, time didn’t exist.

You tilted your face just enough to look up at him. He was awake, barely. His eyes were half-lidded, lashes dark against his skin, mouth relaxed in that rare softness he only wore when the world didn’t require him to be made of knives.

“Hey,” you whispered.

He didn’t speak. Just hummed, low in his chest, and pulled you closer. His hand slid up your back to cradle the back of your head. As if he thought you might slip away if he didn’t.

“I think it’s still raining,” you murmured against his throat.

“Good,” he muttered, voice rough with sleep. “Don’t want you goin’ anywhere.”

You smiled, pressing a lazy kiss to his collarbone. “Wasn’t planning to.”

He shifted, just enough to roll onto his side and take you with him. Now you were facing each other, tangled up in limbs and breath. His thigh slid between yours, anchoring you. His eyes, though sleepy, were clear and soft as rain. He studied your face like he always did when you were this close. Like you were something he still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to have.

“What?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

“Just…” His hand came up to brush your hair behind your ear. “You look peaceful when it rains.”

“So do you.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, something smaller, deeper. “Don’t say that shit,” he muttered, but he didn’t pull away when you kissed the tip of his nose. You let the silence stretch. You didn’t need to fill it. Outside, the rain thickened. You could hear the wind shifting through the trees. A car passing in the distance. But inside, in this bed, in this room, there was only warmth and the slow rhythm of skin and trust.

Ronin’s thumb brushed across your cheek. “Y’feel safe with me?”

The question hit harder than it should have. Not because you didn’t, but because he didn’t always believe it. “I do,” you said gently. “I always do.”

He looked at you like that answer physically hurt. Then he kissed you, slow, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to memorize the taste of your mouth. “Good,” he whispered. “’Cause I ain’t lettin’ you go.”

You curled closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “I know. I don’t want you to.”

He rubbed slow circles into your back. His lips brushed your temple. Your jaw. Your shoulder. “You cold?” he murmured.

“No.”

“Good. You feel warm. Like home.”

Something fluttered in your chest. You didn’t say anything. Just held him tighter. Eventually, the rain faded to a misty hush. The room grew even quieter, but neither of you got up. You drifted together. Skin to skin. Breath to breath. And when you fell asleep again, safe in his arms, you didn’t even hear the storm anymore.

Because Ronin was the peace you needed

And you were his.

[chanelgrll]

hi! could you do a ronin x reader who struggles with substance abuse? all good if not, thank you!

A/N: ofcc!! Please take care of yourself and reach out if you're struggling <3 your mental health matters This is a heavy one, please read warnings below CW: substance abuse, weed, reader is high, mental health struggles, addiction

Smoke and fire

There were nights when the dark tide rose faster than you could swim. Tonight was one of them.

You hadn’t meant to fall this deep into it, hadn’t meant to let the stress reach bone level, where it pulsed in your ribs and skull like a war drum. You’d been good, better, even. Weeks without falling apart. But tonight, something simple and stupid, a glass shattering on the kitchen floor, had cracked the fragile dam inside you.

It had started with your fingers trembling too hard to pick up the shards. Then the breathless, clawing sense that you weren’t safe in your own skin. You’d sat on the floor and pressed your palms to your chest like you could cage your frantic heart. No use.

So you’d lit up instead. It was supposed to be recreational, casual, a rare indulgence. But lately it had become a secret scaffold you leaned on when things tipped too far, not even something Ronin knew (that you were aware of). Tonight you tipped.

Now you were sprawled sideways on the worn couch, eyes half-lidded, the room pulsing gently around you like a tidepool. Music murmured low from the speaker. The world turned 2D and your head was filled with a heavy fog-like pressure. Your limbs were warm and slow and not entirely yours.

Some part of you knew this wasn’t good. Knew that this wasn’t how you wanted him to see you. But that part was far away, muffled, like a voice through thick fog.

The door clicked open.

You didn’t even flinch.

Bootsteps. Slow, deliberate. Then a long pause, silence stretching between inhale and exhale.

“...Darlin’.” His voice was low, no scorn, just weighted with something you couldn’t parse in your current haze. You let your head loll toward the sound. Ronin stood in the doorway, still in his coat, bag slung over one shoulder. His expression was carved from shadow and worry. One hand flexed at his side, as if unsure whether to reach for you.

“Roooo… hi..!” Your voice lilted high and thin, like a bird caught in a storm. You pushed yourself upright with sluggish, graceless limbs, pasting a smile across your mouth, something you hoped resembled normal. But the room swayed. The floor dipped and rolled like a ship at sea. Ronin blurred in your vision, edges smearing like ink in rain. For a moment, even he felt unreal, some towering figment conjured from smoke and shame.

You staggered toward him on trembling legs, one, two steps, then the world pitched. A breathless yelp escaped you as your knees buckled. The floor rushed up in a hard embrace. Before the sting could register, he was there, boots thudding fast against wood, a curse flaring low in his throat.

“The fuck did you do?” He sat down on the floor, careful as he gathered you, pulling your unstrung form against the steady wall of his chest. Your cheek pressed to the worn fabric of his shirt, heartbeat thunderous beneath your ear. The rest of you sprawled limp across the floor, body gone weightless and wrong.

“Mmn… ’m fine, Ro… jus’ sleepy…”

“Bullshit.” The word landed soft but sharp as a blade’s kiss. His voice was low, frayed at the edges, carrying worry shot through with something that ached. “I smell it on you. Smelled it every damn time. Even when you snuck out, half an hour gone, thinkin’ it’d fade off your clothes.”

You tried to blink, to see him clearly, but the world remained blurred, awash in dull red and shadow. His face hovered just beyond reach, but you caught the rawness in his eyes, fury not for you, but for whatever had driven you to this unraveling. You made some sound then, a small, slurred thing, half apology, half plea. But your mouth felt heavy, tongue slow, words impossible.

The weight of his gaze pressed on you like a tide. Not cruel. Not cold. Just unbearably present. You wanted to disappear beneath it, crawl down through the floorboards and vanish. Instead you lay boneless against him, pulse stuttering.

Ronin exhaled slow, controlled, like a man holding back the sea inside him. His arms shifted, one beneath your back, the other curling beneath your knees.

“C’mon,” he murmured. The softness in it unraveled something in your chest. “We’re not stayin’ on the damn floor.”

And then you were lifted, weightless, shame hot against your skin despite the cold fingers of the high still tugging at you. You buried your face in his shoulder to escape the world, to escape yourself.

He carried you to the couch, lowered you down with bone-deep care, as if you were spun glass. His hands lingered a moment, brushing hair from your face, thumb tracing beneath one eye where a tear had escaped without your knowing.

“Y’didn’t have to fight it alone.” His voice broke soft. “Could’ve called me. Could always call me.”

You whimpered, shaking your head weakly. “Didn’t… didn’t wanna bother… didn’t wanna be weak…”

A curse, low and ragged, slipped from him. He knelt beside you, eye-level now, one calloused hand cupping your jaw with aching gentleness, forcing your gaze to his through the blur.

“Look at me,” he said. You tried. Gods, you tried. “You are not a bother,” Ronin told you, voice raw. “And you ain’t weak. You hear me? You ain’t fuckin’ weak for drownin’. You’re stronger than you know for survivin’ it.”

The words cracked something open. The tears came full then, silent at first, then in choking waves. You turned toward him without thinking, clutching fistfuls of his shirt as if he were the only solid thing in a world gone soft and spinning.

He let you cling. Didn’t pull away. One arm slid around your shoulders, the other stroking up and down your spine in slow, grounding motions.

“I got you,” Ronin whispered. Over and over, a steady chant against the storm in your skull. “I got you. Ain’t lettin’ go.”

Time dissolved. The high ebbed like a sick tide, leaving you wrung-out and trembling in its wake. Through it all he stayed, a pillar at your side. His warmth. His scent... leather, cedar, faint trace of iron—became the anchor you clung to. When the worst of it passed, when your body sagged exhausted and empty in his arms, he pressed a kiss against your temple.

“We’ll talk about this. Later. When you’re steady.” Another kiss. “But not tonight. Tonight, you rest.”

And when you slurred, voice cracked open and child-small, “You’ll stay?” he answered without pause:

“Always.” He sat on the couch, resting your head on his lap. Before you knew it, the exhaustion of the weed hit you like a trainwreck, and everything faded to black.

.....

You blinked, sluggish, and found Ronin sitting on the couch, head leaned back with a hand resting on the top of your head, which was still rested on his lap.

The realization struck hard and sharp. “Ro…” you croaked. Voice frayed, throat raw.

He opened his eyes instantly, all the iron edges of him smoothed to quiet concern.

“Hey,” he said soft, gently stroking your hair. “Easy.” A pause. “You with me now?”

You swallowed, nodded faintly. Shame rose like bile in your throat. “I—fuck. I’m sorry.”

Ronin shook his head, slow and sure. “No apologies yet. Not till you eat, drink. You’re still runnin’ on fumes.” A bottled water appeared in his hand; you took it with trembling fingers, sipped gratefully. When your shaking eased, he spoke again, voice low as dawn wind,

“We need to talk, darlin’.”

You closed your eyes, nodding once. You owed him that much.

He didn’t launch in hard. He waited. When you opened your eyes again, he met your gaze, steady as stone, unflinching but not unkind.

“I ain’t mad at you,” Ronin said first. Voice rough with the truth of it. “Ain’t ever gonna be. I’m… worried. And scared for you, if I’m honest. Scared what happens if you keep leanin’ on that shit every time it gets bad.”

You looked away. Tears prickled again. “I know,” you whispered. “I know it’s not good. I just, sometimes it hits and I—I can’t breathe, Ronin. I can’t think. It feels like drowning in my own skin.”

His breath caught faintly at that. Then he shifted, leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees, voice gone even gentler:

“You ever think I don’t know that feelin’? I do. More’n you know.” A pause thick with meaning. “But there’s better ways through it. Ways that don’t tear you down after.” You kept crying, tears pooling out your eyes that Ronin carefully wiped off. He gently pulled you up to sit on his lap, wrapping his arms around you and rocking back and forth slightly.

“I got you,” Ronin said again. Thumb brushing slow circles on your knuckles. “I ain’t lettin’ you fall, darlin’. Not alone.”

And this time, when you whispered, “Okay,” you meant it.

[chanelgrll]

greetings! is it alright if you could do ronin taking care of reader who has trouble remembering to eat, shower or just do any self care? i love your writing! :)

A/N: ofc and thank you! I'm finally done my midterms so I'm locking in to do my reqs

Self care struggles

It started small. A message here or there he hadn’t gotten a reply to. A joke in the server that you usually would’ve shot back a sarcastic response to, but you didn’t. Going to bed early, refusing to turn your camera on. Then the voice call a few nights ago. Your voice had been thin. Strained. Like your throat was tight, your breath shallow.

And Ronin, well. He knew what the fuck that sounded like. He’d seen Angel go through the exact same thing. He didn't push at first, kept reminding you to eat, take care of yourself, drink water. You just kept brushing it off every time. "It's fine Ro! Just stress!" "I'm bound to have a few sleepless nights after my book blowing up!" Bullshit, Ronin wasn't having any of those shit excuses. . You were stubborn as hell sometimes, always trying to act like everything was fine. It was nearing midnight when he finally messaged you direct.

<goreboy> Open your damn door. I’m outside.

You didn’t answer the server all day, everyone was worried about you. But a minute later, barefoot, sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder, eyes hollow, you cracked the door open. Ronin took one look at you and his mouth pressed into a grim line. Your hair was a tangled mess. There were shadows under your eyes dark enough to bruise. You looked, small, weak.

His voice came low and rough. “Darlin’... when’s the last time you fuckin’ ate?” You blinked, as if the question didn’t make sense. Opened your mouth. Closed it again. “That’s what I thought,” he said gently, pushing past the door and kicking it shut with his shoe.

You sagged against the wall, like you barely had the strength to argue. “I’m fine,” you whispered weakly. “Just... forgot... wasn’t hungry...”

“Bullshit.” He didn't sound angry, but his voice was laced with worry. He crouched in front of you, hands braced on his knees. “Y/N, I can see you ain’t fine. I know you haven't been taking good care of yourself even when you say you will, I can read ya like an open book." You stood there silently, eyes focused on the floor beneath you trying not to cry. “I didn’t mean to...” you choked. “I just... I can’t, I couldn’t keep track.. I'm so exhausted and I-I meant to get up and then it was night and then—” Ronin’s arms came around you before you could finish. “Stop. Stop that,” he murmured rough against your hair. “No fuckin’ shame here, you hear me? You don’t owe the devil an explanation.” He pulled back enough to look in your eyes. “But you are gonna let me help you tonight. You trust me?” A shaky nod. A breath hitched. He ruffled your hair with a smile, and picks you up in his arms.

And just like that, Ronin shifted into full-care mode. He carried you gently into the bathroom. Turned the water on warm and placed you down. “Can you stand on your own?” he asked softly. You nodded again, cheeks burning, part from embarrassment and part from just thinking about how much you love your boyfriend for helping you like this. Ronin leaned down, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Good. I’ll be right outside. You yell if you need me.”

You half expected him to peek, tease you, but he didn’t. The moment you started the water, he stood guard silent as a wall outside the door, giving you space but not leaving.

When you emerged, still damp-haired and swallowed in one of his shirts (he must’ve pulled it from his bag), he was waiting with a bowl of soup already heated.

“C’mere. Couch,” he ordered gently. You let him pull you into his lap like a ragdoll. One arm wrapped around your waist, holding you safe and steady, while the other hand spooned soup up to your lips.

“I can—” you tried faintly.

“Nope. Not tonight,” he said simply. “You’ve done more’n enough. Now you let me take over for a bit.” And you did. Let your head tip against his shoulder. Let him place bite after bite past your lips. Let your body rest against his warmth, trembling slowly easing.

When the bowl was empty, he pressed a kiss to your temple. “'You did fuckin’ perfect.” he praised. Your eyes stung again. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed this. How badly you’d wanted someone to just... see you. It felt pathetic forgetting to do basic things for yourself, or just not feeling motivated to get out of your bed. Ronin never let you feel bad for struggling.

Ronin’s voice came low. “You ain’t weak. You ain’t lazy. Your brain just fuckin’ turns against you sometimes, yeah? Happens to all of us.” His grip tightened a little, anchoring you. “But you listen good, sweetheart, you ain’t alone in it anymore. Not while I’m here, even the devil can be helpful." A tear slid down your cheek.

“You need food? I’ll make it.” “You need a shower? I’ll stand guard.” “You need sleep? You’ll do it in my arms, so you know you’re safe.”

His voice turned fierce. “And next time this starts creepin’ up on you? You fuckin’ call me. I don’t care if it’s 4 AM. I don’t care if you think it’s stupid. You don’t have to fight this alone anymore.”

You buried your face in his chest, breath breaking. “Okay,” you whispered. “Okay. I promise.” Ronin ran his fingers through your hair, noticing the small tangles still lingering even after your shower. He grabbed your hairbrush from a drawer, and sat you between his legs facing away from him. He turned on a film for the two of you to watch while he gently brushed your hair with the same hands that brutally killed people moments before. Your heart warmed, a small smile creeping on your face, feeling the amount of love the most wanted serial killer in the city was giving you. You turn to look at him, he pauses the motion and looks at you confused. You kiss his cheek and wrap your arms around him. "Thank you Ro... I love you." You could almost feel him smile back at your words. "Hah, love you too darlin'"

[chanelgrll]

Do you think you could write Ronin caring for a Reader w/a heart condition during a bad episode? I personally get worse during periods of emotional/mental distress so if you could incorporate smth like that if you can that would be wonderful ❤️ No worries if you aren’t comfortable writing this!!

A/N: aaaa ofc! I'm basing this off my own arrythmia episodes so I hope it's similar to what u asked for!

You stay with me, understand?

You’d known this day was coming. You could feel it building, in the way your chest had been tight for a few days, breath shallow, pulse fluttering when it shouldn’t. But you’d kept brushing it off. Too much stress lately. Too much of everything. It's just from overworking, you assumed. Not a big deal!

The server was buzzing tonight, tense chatter about some new body found downtown. You’d tried to stay out of it, tried to work instead, to clear your head. Your mind wouldn’t stop racing though. It felt like any minute everything would break, you were holding on by a thread and you knew it.

And then it happened. A wrong message appearing on your phone, a name you hadn’t wanted to see, at the worst time and your body snapped.

Your chest seized, a sharp twisting pain seeping through your ribs. Your pulse stuttered and then pounded far too fast. It felt like death, your breath caught and wouldn’t come right. No please no Not again. Not now.

You stumbled from your chair, hands trembling, vision tunneling. Curled on the floor in the corner, gasping, tears streaming down your face without even realizing it. No matter how many times this happened, it always felt like death was creeping against your shoulder. The familiar fear built with it, panic feeding the arrhythmia until it spiraled fully out of control.

The sound of a door slamming open barely registered through the pounding in your ears. The beating of your own "fucked up" heart pulsing in your ears, taking over everything. Each palpitation made you shake, wishing you could just sink into the ground and ignore it. You didn’t even know how Ronin had known something was wrong, if you’d messaged, or if he’d just felt it somehow. He always could read your mind, and as much as it could be irritating, you loved him for that. Suddenly he was there, boots thudding hard against the floor as he ran across the room.

“Darlin’—” His voice cut off sharp when he saw you, curled small, clutching your chest, tears streaking your face. “Fuck. I’m here, I’m here—breathe for me, c’mon—” Strong arms wrapped around you carefully, not trapping—just there. One large palm pressed warm to your back, the other cradling the back of your head. He knew about your heart condition, knew how bad your episodes could get, but he never witnessed one first hand.

You gasped, struggling. “I—it’s—my heart—can’t—” The words broke apart between sobs and stuttered breaths.

“I know, I know, you listen to me now,” Ronin said, voice low but so steady it cut through the static. “You’re not alone. You’re not dyin’ tonight, you hear me? You’re safe.” He adjusted you, pulling you to sit between his legs, back pressed to his chest. His arms came around you slow, anchoring you. It felt impossible to witness him like this and compare it to his typical cocky attitude.

“Feel me breathin’? Match it. In... and out...”

You choked on a breath but tried. His chest rose slow and steady behind you, a living metronome.

“In... that’s it... and out... good.”

His voice was a rough whisper by your ear. “I got you. Just stay with me.”

You clung to his arm with shaking hands, pulse still racing sickeningly fast beneath your skin. “It’s—too fast—Ronin—” Terror cracked your voice.

“I know, sweetheart, but you can ride this out. You’ve done it before. You’re stronger than this.” His free hand moved slowly, down your arm, grounding you. His voice never stopped. “You’re here. You’re safe. You’re mine. Nothin’s gonna take you from me tonight.”

Gradually, breath by trembling breath, the pain eased just a fraction. Your pulse stayed too fast, too erratic, but the crushing fear began to loosen its grip. Ronin kept talking, steady and sure, as if sheer force of will could anchor you back.

“Focus on my voice. Focus on my hands. You can lean on me as long as you fuckin’ need, darlin’. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You sobbed once, a broken sound, but your hands finally relaxed their death grip on your chest. “There you go... that’s it,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair.

Time blurred. You didn’t know how long he held you there on the floor, rocking you slow, voice rumbling in your ear. "You're the strongest saint I know, can't have your own aorta killing you... I'm proud of you. Now Let me take you to bed sugar. We’ll keep it slow. You just need rest now.”

You nodded faintly, body trembling. Ronin stood, lifting you easily into his arms.

“Gonna stay right here with you all night. Ain’t lettin’ you outta my sight.”

You buried your face in his neck, clinging weakly. In the soft dark of his room, Ronin settled you against his chest beneath warm blankets, one big hand cradling your heart with featherlight care

His voice whispered through the dark.

“You fought for me tonight, darlin’. Now it’s my turn. I’ll fight for you every damn breath you take.”

Your last thought before sleep pulled you under was that maybe, just maybe, he meant it. And that made all the difference.

[chanelgrll]

Make out headcanons with the Killer Chat Li's please?

A/N: Hiii ofc!! (I didn't know what to do for v </3) Ronin

Would be slow on purpose, he'd kiss you so slowly and so deeply that your knees go weak before you even realize he’s taken control. He kisses like he’s got nowhere else to be

has a habit of catching your bottom lip between his teeth at the end of a kiss, sometimes sharply, just enough to make you gasp. He loves that reaction. You pulling back with your lip swollen and your breath hitched? Music to his ears.

If you’re the type to act like kissing him isn’t a big deal, eyes half-lidded, arms crossed, he’ll up the ante immediately. He’ll whisper things against your mouth just to make you flustered

Hands. everywhere. They're always busy and somewhere on you, holding your jaw, waist, etc!

Would make out with you in semi-public places. Dark alleys, quiet corners at bars, back seats of cars, just risky enough to make your pulse spike. He loves how your hands fist in his shirt when someone walks by too close, and how you don’t push him away. That little thrill that you might get caught, even though no one else sees how wrecked you are under his mouth? Delicious. Angel

If you’re the one to initiate, to kiss them mid-sentence, to take control, Angel completely short-circuits. Her hands grip your waist like they’re anchoring themselves. She'll chase your lips, leaning in like they’re starving.

Gentle and loving, you can feel her affection and adoration through the way she kisses you, leaning back slightly to whisper sweet nothings to you

Would cup your cheek with her hand or wrap her arms around your neck. One hand on your cheek, thumb stroking the curve of your jaw; the other hovering at your hip, unsure whether to pull you closer or just hold you still and soak it in.

EYE CONTACT, she'd lean in looking right into your eyes . Her gaze lingers on your mouth, then meets your eyes—asking permission, and something deeper

She can start gentle, but Angel has a switch. When it flips, she deepens the kiss. The desperation creeps in, and suddenly her hands are everywhere, clutching your waist, threading into your hair, cupping your face like you’re about to vanish.

Misaki

would laugh against your mouth, especially if they randomly think of something funny randomly (come on it's misaki)

Surprises you, they'd contemplate suddenly kissing you mid convo and pounce like a cat

Holds your hand, if you're taller they'd place one hand on your shoulder, if you're taller they'd cup your face in their hands

Slowly for sure, very gentle and would definitely ask if they're doing a good job or if they're too rough , when you give the okay they waste no time getting right back to it

Easily embarrassed afterwards especially if they get realllyyyy into it like they got possessed

Praises you throughout! Hugs you and kisses all over your face and neck in between V

probably has no idea how to kiss (sorry v)

very very gentle and slow, takes his time and savors every second of it, would keep asking if he's doing too much

Would only make out with you in private spaces, but would kiss you in public

Holds your face, waist, hip, etc

Would say words of endearment throughout, kissing your face and holding your hand while making out with you

[chanelgrll]

Maybe could you do Ronin with a reader who gets kidnapped and almost murdered by another serial killer/stalker?? Please and thank you I need more angst/comfort fics in this fandom 🙂‍↕️

A/N: hell yeah i can

The room stank of bleach and blood. Not the clean kind. Not the kind you smell in hospitals or behind a bartender’s counter at 3 AM. This was rust and rot and something darker.

Your wrists were raw from zip ties, skin chewed up where you’d tried to fight. Your breath came in ragged, dragging gasps as you sat curled against the wall, half-conscious. The blindfold was gone now, cut off with something jagged. He’d wanted you to see him, see what he planned to do. But he’d talked too long. That’s what saved you.

Because Ronin found you first.

The door burst open like a shotgun blast, hinges screaming, and then everything moved too fast for your mind to catch. One moment you were preparing to die. The next, the world was blood and heat and shouting, and Ronin was there, crouched in front of you, saying something your brain couldn’t understand yet. His voice didn’t sound like it usually did on calls. Not cocky. Not smug. It was shaking. Quiet and sharp like broken glass.

"Hey. Hey, darling.. look at me. Come on. Open those pretty eyes."

Your eyes fluttered open, barely. Light stabbed through your skull. Your throat was too dry to speak. His hands didn’t touch you at first. They hovered, trembling fingers an inch from your bruised cheek, afraid to cause more damage. You managed a sound. Something halfway between a sob and his name.

“Ronin…”

He pulled you into him, ignoring the blood, the smell, the way your body shook. His arms locked around you like he could piece you back together with pressure alone. Your face buried against his chest, where his shirt was damp with sweat and blood, his or someone else's, you couldn't tell.

"I’ve got you now. You're okay. You're safe, y’hear me?” he whispered, over and over, his voice cracking like a fault line. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. No one’s ever gonna touch you again.”

You weren’t sure when you passed out, but the next thing you knew, you came to in a dim room filled with soft yellow light, the scent of antiseptic cleaner replaced by cologne, warm cotton, and Ronin’s cigarettes. You were on his bed, tucked under a weighted blanket. Everything ached. But the panic was gone, you felt safe again.

He was in a chair beside you, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees. He hadn’t changed clothes, but his gloves were off. His hands were bloody at the knuckles.

“Did you kill him?” you asked, voice rasping like gravel. Ronin blinked and sat back, looking you over like he hadn’t let himself until now. His expression was something unreadable. Fire and guilt and something desperate.

“I gutted that bitch from the inside out.” He ran a hand through his burgundy hair, wild and sweat-stuck. The silence stretched, heavy.

You broke first. “He said he’d been watching me for months. Said he found me through the server. Said I ‘talked so sweet for a killer’s partner.’” Your voice cracked. “He knew everything, Ronin.

He stood, jaw clenched. “If I find out which sick bastard leaked your info, I swear, I’ll rip out their—”

“Ronin.”

He stopped mid-step. You had to reach for him. Had to. Because if you didn’t anchor him, you weren’t sure either of you would make it out of this spiral.

“I’m still here,” you whispered. In two steps, he was at the bed, sinking to his knees in front of you. His hand reached up, so gentle now, and brushed back your hair, eyes fixed on your battered face.

“I should’ve kept you safe,” he said, voice thick. “I let myself get soft. I forgot what kind of world we live in.”

“No,” you said. “You loved me.” His fingers tangled with yours. They were shaking.

“You don’t have to be okay,” he murmured. “Not now. Not for me. Just… stay with me. Let me take care of you for once.”

You let yourself lean into him, let your head rest against his. The pain didn’t vanish. The fear still ghosted your bones. But in his arms, it didn’t feel like the end of the world anymore.

[chanelgrll]

Um hi your asking for writing prompts for Killer Chat right? Could I possibly ask for Ronin helping the reader as they breakdown (ie: crying and curling into themselves due to an overwhelming amount of stress.) Only if you're comfortable with writing it of course! Thank you very much for reading this and I hope that you have a wonderful day/night.

A/N: of course!!!

The walls around you were closing in, your screen swam in a haze of half-finished sentences and blinking deadlines, the words bleeding into each other like spilled ink. The cursor blinked in rhythm with your panic. You sat on your chair with your leg bouncing and your hands trembled over the keyboard, and your vision grew wet and tight. You hadn’t even realized you were crying until a tear hit the corner of your laptop. All your work was piling up to the point where it was too much for you to bear. Deadlines, expectations, it was all too much. You tried to swallow it all down: the pressure, the deadlines, the feeling that everything you touched was splintering under your fingers. You tried to get up out of your chair, stumbling to a corner in a desperate attempt to run away from the stress. The air felt too thick, your lungs useless. You reached the corner of the room like it was a lifeboat, sinking into it with your back pressed to the wall, hands gripping the sides of your head. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but curl tighter into yourself, shaking, sobbing, breaking down in a way you hadn’t let yourself do in years. Every crack you had covered with control was wide open now, and all the fear, all the shame, all the exhaustion poured out like a flood you couldn’t hold back. Everything was blurring, your head feeling heavy, and then you felt it. Two hands grasping your shoulders and the muffled voice of someone familiar. “Hey… hey. Look at me.” Ronin. You blinked hard, vision struggling to focus. His face swam into view slowly, the sharp lines of it blurred by your tears. His burgundy hair was tousled, his brow furrowed in concern, not a trace of his usual cocky grin in sight. He crouched in front of you, thumbs brushing over your upper arms as he held you like you might disappear if he let go. “Breathe, darling,” he said gently, voice low and rough around the edges. “Just breathe. In. Out. You’re okay. You’re right here with me.”

You shook your head, tears still falling. “I can’t… I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. I’ve got you.” His hands moved to cup your face, thumbs swiping your cheeks. His gaze held yours with a startling kind of focus, not like he was studying you, but like he was anchoring you. Like he was holding you in place with just his eyes and his voice. “You're safe. You’re not alone.”

Your chest hitched with a sob, but you tried. In. Out. The air scraped your lungs, but it came. He breathed with you, slow and steady, like your heartbeat could sync to his if you stayed close enough. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’ve survived worse. I know you have.”

Your fingers gripped the sleeves of his jacket, clinging like he was the only thing keeping you from slipping under. You didn’t know how long you sat there, seconds, minutes, maybe more with him whispering soft reassurances and holding you like the world could wait while you fell apart. Eventually, your sobs quieted into hiccupped breaths. The weight on your chest didn’t lift, not fully, but it became something lighter.

“I… I didn’t know it’d get this bad,” you whispered hoarsely. Ronin brushed a damp strand of hair from your face, eyes searching

“You’ve been holding too much for too long. Thought I wouldn’t notice?”

You let out a broken laugh, small and tired. “You’re not exactly the emotional support type.”

He arched a brow at that. “Don’t ruin the moment, sweetheart.”

“I’m serious,” you mumbled.

“So am I,” he said softly, gaze gentle. “If you break, I break. That’s how this works.”

You swallowed thickly, throat aching. “I don’t want to fall apart in front of you.”

“Tough luck,” he murmured, pulling you gently into his arms. “You’re already in pieces. Might as well let me help you hold them.” And in that moment, pressed against his chest with your world still shaking, you let yourself believe him, and that you didn’t have to carry this alone anymore, not with him here.

Eventually, the storm passed. Not all at once, but your breath came easier, your hands stopped shaking, the tears dried where they’d fallen against Ronin’s shirt, leaving damp marks he didn’t seem to notice... or maybe didn’t care to. He didn’t rush you and just stayed there, arms still around you, his heartbeat a slow, steady drum against your cheek.

“I should be working,” you whispered after a while, voice barely audible. Ronin huffed a breath, like disbelief. “Yeah? And I should be at the church stabbing a priest. Guess we’re both slacking tonight.” You let out a quiet sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and leaned heavier into him. “You’re not going back to that screen tonight,” he said firmly, voice like warm gravel. “It’ll still be there tomorrow. Right now, you need something that isn’t tearing you apart.” He stood slowly, careful not to jostle you, then held a hand out. “Come on. Let’s get you off the floor before I start looking like the nurturing boyfriend type. Gotta maintain my reputation. I'll make you some tea” You took his hand, fingers curling into his without thinking. He helped you up with an ease that made you feel light, even when you knew you weren’t. You blinked up at him. “You know how to make tea?” You asked shocked. He shot you a look. “I know how to pour hot water into a cup, thank you. I’m not completely uncultured.” You watched him move around your shared kitchen. He grabbed your favorite mug from the top shelf, dropped a teabag in, and filled it with water that wasn’t quite boiling but close enough to be comforting. Then he rummaged for honey, found it, and stirred in just the right amount, not too sweet, but enough to soften the edge.

He handed it to you with both hands, fingers brushing yours. “Sip. Slowly. I’m not above babying you right now.” You took the mug, the warmth grounding in your palms, and raised an eyebrow. “I think you like babying me.” He grinned, all teeth and no apology. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re just fun when you’re helpless.” You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched at the corners. The warmth of the tea crept through your chest like light through frostbitten windows.

He guided you to the couch next, pulling a blanket from the back and draping it over your shoulders like it was second nature. He pulled you into his side, letting you lean on him. Your head rested against his shoulder. His fingers skimmed your arm in absent circles, soothing. “I hate that you had to see me like that,” you mumbled eventually, staring into your tea. Ronin made a sound low in his throat. “And I hate that you think falling apart is something you need to hide from me.” You stayed quiet. He nudged your temple with his chin. “You think I’d love you less for being human?” he asked. You blinked. The word hit harder than expected. You set the mug down on the coffee table with trembling hands.

He turned his head toward you. “What?” You kissed him, and when he kissed you back, it wasn’t like the usual Ronin that was all sharp teeth and ego. It was softer, like he was trying to pour every unspoken word into the shape of your mouth. When you pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.

“No more breaking down alone, okay?” he whispered.

“Okay,” you breathed. He brushed his thumb under your eye again, catching a last stray tear. “I mean it. Next time, you call me. Don't think that I'm ever too busy to love you.” He held you tighter, planting a kiss on your forehead, and before you knew it, you were falling into dreamland.

[chanelgrll]

HIYAAA !!1!!1! could u do the killer chat w a mafia related reader????? Idk if you've done it before. Maybe a bartender that gives info out, a avvocato (the one that manages their legal troubles) or sm else entirely!!!! The possibilities are a looooott

A/N: ofc!!! I like the bartender idea so I'm gonna use that! cw: alcohol, suggestive scene, blood, ronin route spoiler

The bar you work at is older than sin and twice as dirty, a little pocket of cigarette smoke and whispered names tucked into the edge of a crooked city. The light barely touches anything but the edges of tumblers. You keep your mouth shut, your ears open, and your clientele coming back.

You're not mafia in name, not officially, but you serve them. In this line of work, loyalty is a currency, and you’ve been spending yours carefully: one pour, one favor, one secret at a time. You make your living off of people's drunk confessions, and sometimes off silence.

That’s probably why he showed up.

Ronin. Or as the server calls him, <goreboy>. That smug bastard with a smile like a knife burning slow, dangerous, a little too intoxicating. You'd heard about him through the usual whispers: a man who murders with no mercy, who laughs while he sharpens his blades. The Devil's Butcher, he found you with some digging, invited you to the server, that was 1 month ago.

But now he sits at your bar, one hand curled around a glass of neat whiskey, eyeing you like you’re the only person in the room who’s real. "Don't tell me you're quiet out of modesty,” he asks, voice smooth and low. “That would ruin the fantasy.”

You raise a brow. “Maybe I just don’t talk to devils.”

His smirk grows. “Darlin’, that’s not what I’ve heard. Word is you know everyone.” You don’t answer. You keep pouring. The first night he finally visited you, he says little, other than asking questions you pretend not to answer. The second night, he starts teasing. By the third, he’s stealing sips from your glass and telling you things no one’s supposed to know.

Like the way he sleeps with a knife under his pillow. Or the time he strangled a man in a church confession booth. Or how he doesn’t actually know how to tie a tie properly, but fakes it well enough.

It’s dangerous, how close he lets you. Even worse is how much you enjoy it.

You don't give information away for free, But when Ronin’s visiting, you slip a few things under the table. Names, meeting spots, small details.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That your heart doesn’t leap a little when he calls you darlin’, or lean a little too close when he reaches for his drink. That the way he watches you when your hands move over a glass isn’t bordering on reverence. Then there are the nights he comes in with blood on his knuckles and a split in his smile. The nights he doesn't talk much. You pour something strong for him, and you don’t ask questions.

Eventually, you hand him a rag and nod toward the sink in the back. That becomes your ritual. No questions, just warmth and a glass and the hush of jazz playing under the buzz of neon. You patch each other up in pieces. He doesn’t say thank you, not aloud, but he’ll linger longer when he leaves. Let his fingers brush yours when he takes his coat.

Once, just once, he kisses your knuckles like you’re royalty and he’s about to die.

The Slaughterhouse Losers is always full with chats. You’re not on it often, but Ronin gets giddy when he can drag you into voice. Your screen lights up with the familiar chaos one night while you're closing down. <goreboy> Guess who just saved their pretty little bartender from being snitched on <Angelic> Did you actually kill someone for LOVE??? <hitmeuppp> WHAT spill the lore IMMEDIATELY <You> didn’t ask for saving

<LUCA_IS_COOL> okay but did you mind tho... <goreboy> Didn’t see you complaining when I showed up <You> i was holding a bat and 2 broken bottles. i was fine. <goreboy> You looked like a fallen angel in a dirty apron. I had to intervene.

Your fingers hesitate. Then you type: <You> …thank you

<goreboy> Anything for you, darling

You minimize the tab before anyone else can see your face turn warm. The thing about the life is that it always comes knocking. Doesn’t matter how neutral you try to stay, how many drinks you pour, how many names you bite your tongue not to say. One day, the wrong man walks through your doors. He’s a cop. And he’s asking questions that cut too close.

“You see Ronin Beaufort in here often?”

You clean a glass. “Never heard of him.”

“Heard he’s tight with a bartender. One who keeps a lot of secrets.”

“Maybe you’ve been drinking in the wrong bars.” You’re not stupid. You don’t send a message. You don’t reach out. You wait. But you know the walls have ears, and the floorboards here are soaked in enough sins to make evil spirits quiver. Ronin doesn’t show that night. Or the next. On the third, just as you’re locking up, you feel the chill behind you.

"You always this good at lying?” his voice murmurs near your ear.

You spin, and he’s there, blood spattered across his collar and cheek, eyes wild like a storm.

“What the hell happened?”

“FBI,” he spits like a curse. “One of them followed me. I left him unconscious in a dumpster, but the fucker had a mic. Thought you might’ve cracked.”

Your jaw tightens. “You really think I’d talk?”

He watches you, a long beat. Then his voice softens. “No. But it scared me, is all.” You should push him away. You should be furious. Instead, you reach out and wipe the blood off his cheek with your thumb.

“I’ve seen you bleed, Ronin. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop standing next to you.” He exhales like that undoes him. Like he wants to sink to his knees. Instead, he kisses you, tasting of copper and want.

The night becomes a fever dream of heavy breathing, bodies tangled in the back office where the city can't see you sin. He kisses like he means it, touch like he’s memorizing every scar. You don't let anyone this close. Not usually. But Ronin’s not anyone. He's chaos, and you're the fool who thinks you can dance in fire without burning.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters against your skin.

You pull his hair until he groans. “Then die pretty.”

He laughs, god help you.

You don’t sleep that night. You just lie tangled with him on the old couch, the scent of whiskey and sweat and blood between you, the server buzzing somewhere with chaos you don’t care about. In the early hours, while the neon dies and the street outside is silent, he whispers,

“If I asked you to run with me, would you?” You don’t answer right away. But you don’t say no. The heat dies down eventually. The feds move on. A bribe, a corpse, a misdirected tape , whatever it was, Ronin never tells you, and you don’t ask. But things change after that.

He’s softer with you. In private. Still smug. Still lethal. But sometimes you catch him staring like you’re a ghost that haunts him sweetly. You start marking his usual spot with a napkin and his favorite drink. He starts leaving you little things, like a necklace he said reminded him of your smile. A bullet casing with your initials scratched into the side.

“I’m sentimental,” he shrugs. “Sue me.”

You grin. “I’m your bartender, not your lawyer.”

“That so?” he leans close. “Then pour me something dangerous, sweetheart.” You do, every time.

<goreboy> My bartender just stabbed a guy with a corkscrew <Angelic> LMAO WHAT <You> He threatened Ronin. I got creative <hitmeuppp> im gonna SCREAM this is ROMANCE

<LUCA_IS_COOL> do you guys even need us here? i feel like i’m 3rd wheeling <goreboy> Only when you’re useful, Luca <K9> Can everyone shut up

“You know,” he says one night, “if the world ended tomorrow, I’d still come here. Just to see you pour one last drink.”

You shake your head. “That’s dramatic, even for you.”

He leans over the bar, eyes dark. “Yeah, but it’s true.”

You pause. Then nod. “Same.” You don’t need more than that. The way he looks at you, the way he stays even when he should run, tells you what he can’t quite say. You kiss him across the bar. Let him taste the parts of you that don’t belong to anyone else.

You pour another glass.

He drinks.

And you stay.

Together.

[chanelgrll]

ronin nsfw for the freaks maybe 🤲

A/N: oh of course I gotchu

Roninxafab reader MINORS DNI 18+

cw: smut, sexual tension, edging, masturbation (and getting caught), overstimulation (?), degrading, biting

It's been a year since you joined that god forsaken serial killer server, met with 8 different killers… and fell in love with one of them. Ronin, the cocky server owner stole your heart, or aorta as he would call it, one month into you joining. After you two met in purgatory and shared your first kiss, your relationship was basically set in stone. It's been about 6 months since that night. Half a year of shared glances, cruel jokes, and slow-burning intimacy. Most days, he was at your side glued to the hip .

Until last week.

Deadlines crept in like rot. You hadn't left your house in days. The silence stretched long and lonely. Now, here you were hunched under the weary halo of a desk lamp, agonizing over your taxes, the most soul-crushing ritual of adulthood. Eyes glazed, pen trembling, your focus tunneled. So when your phone rang, the sound shattered the stillness like gunfire.

shit.

You fall with your chair onto your floor. You hit the ground with a thud. For a second, you just laid there in stunned disbelief, blinking at the ceiling as the ringtone blurred into background noise. Eventually, you pried yourself off the floor, dragging the chair upright. With a sigh, you opened your laptop.

Ronin was calling. Of course he was.

He’d been on your case all week, nagging sweetly, aggressively mother-henning from afar. You could already hear the teasing concern in his voice. Had you eaten? Drunk water? Was your bloodstream now 80% caffeine? Your chest warmed despite yourself.

With another sigh, you clicked Join.

...and almost jump at the sight of Ronin.

He's standing way too close to his webcam, half his face off frame.

“There you are, darling,” he purred. “Thought the grind finally claimed you. Death by productivity.” He sat back in his seat, leaning back and looking at the screen with a grin.

"Oh please like a little bit of hard work is gonna be the death of me," you roll your eyes but couldn't help but smile back at him. You missed him, a lot. He doesn't reply for a moment, his eyes flickering up and down his screen. You tilt your head at him, "whatcha looking at ?

“Mm, just admiring the aftermath,” he said. “Messy hair. Shirt buttoned wrong. Looks familiar.”

Your stomach dropped. Then your eyes caught your disheveled reflection in the corner of the screen, hair a tangled halo, shirt hanging open at the collar.

"Ah sorry! you called at a random time," you mumble in response. The last thing you needed was Ronin teasing you on how clumsy you are, again.

“Oh yeah?” he said slowly. “Because I swear I’ve seen you like that before. Bedroom lighting, glazed eyes, shirt half-off... Déjà vu, maybe?” You froze. Your face erupted in flame.

“WHAT—HEY—NO—ABSOLUTELY NOT!” You scrambled to fix yourself, hands flailing. He just watched, laughing, head thrown back, eyes gleaming.

“Relax, sugar. Just a memory. A good one.” He wiped fake tears from his eyes as his laughter died down. “Now tell me... what the hell had you looking like you just walked through a tornado? You takin’ care of yourself?” He looks at your expression as he awaits an answer from you. You scratch the back of your neck, looking down at your desk.

"I just fell off my chair right when you called me, I didn't check how I looked," you respond, not wanting to see the smug face he was probably making. For a good reason too because the second those words left your mouth

A beat of silence.

Then chaos.

Ronin's laugh tore through your headset like a banshee scream. You yelped, ripping them off your head and slamming your forehead onto the desk in defeat. Smooth. After a moment, you slowly slipped the headset back on, just in time to catch his continued wheezing.

“AAAHHAHAHAH—”

You flipped him off. He grinned wider, voice dipping low.

“Aww, is my sweetheart embarrassed? Of me? Your favorite devil on your shoulder?” he asked, tone all honey and razors. You lifted your head just enough to glare at the screen, arms folded defensively. He was still leaning close, eyes heavy on yours.

"I'd be lying if I said it didn't turn me on."

"For fucks sake Beaufort you can't just throw that out there," you groan.

“Can’t help yourself, can you?” Ronin teased. “You fold so fast. I bet if I offered to come over, you’d be on your knees before I hit the doorstep.” You scoffed, cheeks blazing.

“I would never. I have dignity thank you very much.”

He raised a brow. Relaxed. Leaned further back in his chair. And that’s when you noticed: no jacket. Just a dark, worn band shirt clinging to his frame. His arms flexed slightly behind his head. His stupid perfect smirk, those sharp teeth, that wild tangle of burgundy hair, he looked like a sin carved from moonlight. You were still staring when he opened his mouth again.

“Oh, really?” he said. “Because if I remember right, a few hours after that first kiss you said... ‘Ronin please, I’m begging you, just put it—’”

“OKAY OKAY OKAY,” you shrieked, hands flying to your ears. “WE GET IT. YOU WIN.” He said nothing. Just smirked, watching you stew in your own embarrassment.

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t miss it,” he cooed. “The way you cling to me like I’m salvation. Like I could keep you there, forever. Caught in the heat.” His voice had dropped to something soft and decadent. A velvet hook in your spine. You swallowed and stared hard at the piece of paper on your desk, as if tax forms could rescue you.

God help you.

Ronin noticed your flustered expression and stuck his tongue out.

"Oh would ya look at the time!" and... ended the call. You sat there, now in complete silence still trying to process what he had said. The week of not seeing him, missing him, craving him all finally coiled up inside you. He left you and your mind so completely disrupted, causing permanent contractions in your lower abdomen. You felt like a dog in heat.

You looked back down at the paper on your desk, and you knew there was no way you could focus on this anymore. With a sigh you stood up and stumbled over to your bed, collapsing in it. Your brain fogged up with nothing but Ronin's voice, his smell, his touch, the feeling of his hands on you and before you could stop yourself, your hand was moving down on its own. A moan slipped over your lips as you completely lost control over any embarrassment. The only thing in your mind was on Ronin. You tried to edge yourself, dwell in the pleasure a little longer before reaching your high.

Just when it felt like your fingers were completely moving on their own, mere seconds away from an intense orgasm...

"Yknow if you missed me that much you could've just asked me to come." You were scared stiff, slowly lifting your head from being buried in your blankets to turn around and face... Ronin. Half his body was in your room through the window while his other half was still outside. He was staring at you, but his focus was on the hand that was between your legs. Without thinking twice you yanked your hand out and covered yourself with your blanket, absolutely horrified.

"R-Ronin?" was all that you could say, frozen in shock and still recovering from the build up moments before his intrusion. He didn't answer, didn't have to. He stepped inside your room and crawled onto your bed, yanking the blanket off you leaving you exposed to him. Ronin stopped moving once he was looming over you, both his hands propped beside your head so you were laying below him, eyes wide. You finally mustered up enough strength to look him in the eyes. His pupils were blown. His hair fell down past his face lightly tickling your forehead. He looked at you, his pupils dilating as each second went by. He leaned down, lips brushing against your ear.

"I guessed you were teased to absolute desperation but I didn't expect you to start without me," he whispered. There was no cocky attitude, no smug tone to his voice. Before you could respond he took his shirt off and immediately followed by taking off your shorts and undergarments in one grip. The view of his body after days of not seeing him made you weak, any protest you had left your mind as you covered your mouth with one of your hands, gripping the sheets under you in anticipation with your other.

Noticing, Ronin took your hand off your mouth and held it, moving it to the side of your head and pinning your wrist down. His other hand trailed down your waist, past your hips and moved over your thigh, and stopped at your inner thigh. Your body reacted, heavy breathing escaped from your lips as he lifted his head up to look at you.

"Can I?" he asked under heavy breaths. You nodded your head desperately, eyes shut not daring to look at him. All you heard was Ronin let out a groan and he slowly entered you with two of his fingers, moving rhythmically in a way that made your legs shake. "Fuck, you're so wet.." he cooed.

You heard him rearranging his position, still too embarrassed to open your eyes. Then you gasped as you felt his tongue on your clit. He groaned as he started the messily eat you out while fingering you. The metal piercing in his tongue hitting in just the right spot making you see stars. You gripped into his hair, already feeling your high building up from earlier. But before you could finally finish, he stopped. You whimpered, tears running down your cheeks, your body was completely overwhelmed by everything that just took place. You look up at him as he crawls back over you, your eyes glossy. The look on your face wiped the smile off his face, and his head fell forward onto your shoulder, sighing as if he was in pain. His hand gripped your hip harshly.

"Ronin... please.. please," you whisper. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked away closing his eyes.

"I need to fuck you right now or I'm going to go insane," his raspy voice sent a shiver down your spine. He removed his and your last pieces of clothing and started impatiently rubbing his tip on your wetness, the sweetest sounds escaping him. You let out a whimper in anticipation.

When he finally entered, you lost your breath. It felt like finding an oasis after days of no water, and you found your feelings mirrored in Ronin's face. His head fell back and a deep moan exited his mouth. He slid in and out of you painfully slow, savoring every second. Ronin lowered his head to look at you, and when your eyes met he gave you a smile, but with his next thrust his brows furrowed again.

He kneeled and lifted your hips up gently to change the angle, somehow going deeper. You became a moaning mess under him as he fastened his pace, the growing knot forming again inside you. Ronin knew by the way your moans changed that you were close, so he harshly gripped into your hips and bit down on your neck.

"Come on darling, bet you've been needing this."

The force of his grip and the pain from the bite sent your brain into overdrive, enough to send you over the edge. He felt your walls contracting and tightening around him, before you came. hard. Curses left Ronin's mouth as he tried to hold back for a little longer. He used the grip he had on your hips to flip you over onto your stomach like a toy. He took a few shaky breaths trying to calm himself down.

You, still shaking and trying to process your orgasm, gasped as you were grabbed by the throat and lifted up onto your knees upright, his other hand secured both your wrists behind your back as he entered again. It was hard for you to stay on your knees alone, your thighs shaking. He kept his grip on your wrists firm in one hand and pushed your face into the pillow with his other. Your moans muffled. Ronin picked up the face, and each thrust he went harder hitting the spot that had you blanking out.

"Too much, I can't-"

With his other hand still secure by the throat, he interrupted you. "you're gonna take it like the fucking slut you are, I know you can." His voice had a threatening undertone, even though you could hear him struggling. You didn't think it was possible but each thrust brought you closer as you could feel your next high building up. Ronin tried to chuckle as he heard your whines turning into moans again, but all that escaped his mouth was heavy breathing.

As he slowly fastened the pace, your moans vibrated against his hand on your throat. He bent down to your ear. "Sshhhh..." he shushed into your ear, grinning. But as if you were going against him, you only got louder. He flipped you back to face him again, and he lowered his head down, harshly biting your neck again, and again. One of your hands grabbed into his hair as you came.

"Ronin... fuck... haaah..."

He finished right after you, his body weight collapsing as you as his body shuddered against you. Every exhaled breath of both of you was followed by a low soft-spoken moan.

"Ronin..."

"hm.?"

"You're heavy"

He laughed, rolled off you and kissed you. "Fuck, Y/N what's wrong with you?" He asked jokingly with his eyes closed, still regaining his breath. You narrowed your eyes.

"What's wrong with me?" you spoke half into the pillow.

"You're insatiable, and you feel insane," he ran his hand through his hair, getting it out of his face. He let out a laugh and you felt a strand of hair being removed from your face. You look up at his gaze. Dark eyes that somehow danced in the light. He pulled you closer and you closed your eyes, the stress from the week leaving your body.

Ronin pulled back to take a good look at you, pointing at your neck and collarbone with a giant grin. “Wait till the server sees this.”

“Ronin don’t you fucking dare-“

“Relax darling,” he laughed while repeatedly booping your nose. “My eyes only I can’t have V seeing you in this state.” You just let out a groan and buried your face back in his neck. He just kept laughing, his hold on you tightening slightly.

“You’re an idiot yknow that Ronin?”

“Yeah but you love me.”

“Fuck you”

[chanelgrll]

Asks me writing prompts!!!

i’ve been wanting to write more but the problem is I have NO CLUE what to write soooooo…. please do NOT hesitate to send some prompts in. I do have certain boundaries though but they’re pretty basic. i’m good with NSFW prompts as long as they aren’t any topics of non consensual acts.

I mostly focus on Ronin from kc! but I can also do any of the other love interests, or characters from the kid at the back (tkatb), also Ren from 14dwy I’m also down to write!

[chanelgrll]

Wisdom teeth without the wise

Ronin x reader where ronin picks you up after you got your wisdom teeth taken out and takes care of you while you recover

The clinic was washed in a sterile white glow, machines murmuring quietly in the corners like distant spirits. Ronin leaned against the wall, arms crossed, idly tapping his phone with a booted foot. The seconds crawled by, cold and uninviting. Somewhere behind that steel door, you were having your teeth torn from your skull like sacrificial offerings. An hour of necessary brutality they said. He’d caught that flicker of fear in your eyes when they’d called your name. You tried to mask it, of course. But Ronin saw everything. You’d been together for a few months now. Ever since that kiss in Purgatory, where the moonlight scorched the night and your lips met his like two souls finally colliding. He’d never admit it out loud, but the second you kissed him, the world stopped turning. His heart nearly burst out of his ribs. From that moment on, he was yours. Headfirst. No brakes. So when you asked: "hey Ronin?" "hm?" "I have to get my stupid wisdom teeth yanked out in a few days... and I was wondering if you'd be the one to take m-?"

He said yes before the sentence even finished. Honestly, it sounded like fun. Now he sat scrolling through the beloved serial killer server, killing time, killing nerves, killing the way his chest felt weirdly hollow without you next to him. <goreboy> Ha. It'll be great, I'll be getting so much blackmail on them for years to come <Angelic> Years you say? Someone's in looooveee ~ <hitmeuppp> AWWWWW Stop this is so cute I'm crying Ronin's all grown up and soft now 🥺 <goreboy> ... I meant years to come as in I'll haunt them with it like the Devil I am <Hitmeupp> Sureeeeeeee we totally believe that <LUCA_IS_COOL> Y/N and Ronin sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G who knew our local cryptid was a big softie? <felicite> This is adorable!! <goreboy> I'm going to murder every last one of you

But before his thumbs could craft their usual snark, a voice broke the veil.

“Excuse me. Are you Y/N’s boyfriend?” She was a nurse, kind-faced and tired-eyed. Ronin straightened with a quiet nod. “Yup. That’s me.” “They’re done. In recovery now, sedatives should wear off soon. Come with me.” The lady led Ronin to a back room, with a bunch of small makeshift rooms blocked off with thin curtain. She pushed the curtain aside revealing a sleeping Y/N, peacefully resting in the bedlike chair. He couldn't help but smile slightly, even with your swollen puffy face you still looked perfect. "We didn't give too much, so they should be up soon and then you're free to go. They'll be a bit loopy from the anesthesia though, but it shouldn't last too long." The curtain fell shut. He sat beside you, and for a few moments, he just watched. In the hush between machines, he leaned down and kissed the crown of your head. As if on cue, a groan left your lips and your eyes slowly opened as you slowly regained consciousness. You looked around the room and your eyes landed on him. "Rrowren...?" Ronin laughed, a sharp exhale through his nose. “Well, good day to you, sugar. How you feelin’?”

“My body feels like jelly. Do you… do you have a spoon?” you asked, completely serious. His composure shattered. He laughed until he wept. You blinked at him, a little offended by his joy. Then, as if vengeance was a muscle memory, you reached up and began lightly bopping him on the nose.

He caught your wrist with a grin. “Awwww What happened to your tough act, huh? You love me so much you can't help but falter?”

You never let him get away with teasing you, especially this early in your relationship. You always had some way to make a comeback or mess with him back. Not right now though, you didn't respond to him and when he looks back at you, you're staring up at the popcorn ceiling above you. "Can I eat the ceiling rowen," you asked, looking mesmerized by the texture. On that note, Ronin knew it was time. He sat up and patted your head. “No ceiling for you, darlin’,” he whispered, gently brushing hair from your face. “That’s asbestos-flavored death and I need you alive.” You frowned at him and before he could even comment on your face you start crying. Now that's unexpected. “Shit—no, hey, hey.” Ronin stood quickly, helping you up, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I’ll get you something just like the ceiling, but edible. Promise.” Ronin turns you to face him and wipes the tears off your puffy cheeks, you swat his hand away. "Noo don't touch me I look like a pweuufferfish," you mumble. He has absolutely no idea what that last word was but he could assume it wasn't nice. "Well you're the prettiest fallen angel I've ever seen, so deal with it," he lifted you bridal-style into his arms. You yelped, then promptly rested your head on his shoulder, mumbling something about apple varieties. By the time they reached his car, you were lecturing him on the merits of Honeycrisp over Fuji, none of which he understood, but he loved it anyway.

Back at his place, you were flopped gracelessly on his bed. Ronin debated popcorn in honor of your ceiling obsession, but your sudden sobbing made him abandon that plan fast.

“I don’t have teeth for that,” you cried. He made a smoothie instead. Fruit slaughtered. Served in a pitch-black skull-shaped cup, because aesthetic. He sat beside you, wrapping his arm around you.

“Feelin’ any better?” he asked. You nodded, then pointed to your lips.

“I feel like Kim Kardashian.”

He stared at you, trying not to laugh. “Well, Kim’s jealous, no doubt.”

You groaned, sipping. Ronin ruffled your hair and put on a movie. You were asleep again in minutes, breathing soft against his shoulder. He looked down at you and smiled. Quietly. Softly. Dangerously in love. He hadn’t expected this. Any of it. He was dark corners and sharp edges. You were starlight and stubborn warmth. And somehow, you stayed.

Each time you quietly mumble in your sleep his heart clenched in his chest and felt unbearably heavy. He'd feel that way every time you smiled at him, kissed him, hugged him, but he'd always cover it up with his cocky attitude. Ronin thought to himself and realized you wouldn't remember much of the day from how loopy you were, so he said fuck it. He gently pulled you closer and hugged you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and let out a sigh. He felt you ruffle around a little bit but to his knowledge you were still fast asleep. Holding you close to him, Ronin slowly fell asleep with you after a few more minutes of whispering sweet (kinda murderous) nothings in your ear. Ronin opened his eyes to the sound of you giggling. His heart warmed for a second, glad that you weren't having your loopy mood swings. He opened one eye and saw you on your phone typing, his head still on your shoulder. After a few seconds of his eyes adjusting to the light, he saw you were on the server, and everyone was active. He sat up, catching your attention. "Feeling better darling?" he asked you, his voice a little raspy from sleep. You gave him a sly smirk and gesture to his phone, still laying on the bed. "So much better," you replied, covering your mouth to stifle a laugh. Confused, Ronin picked up his phone and opened the server. His soul left his body. <You> *img* look at this softie <Angelic> HAHAHAHA he's KNOCKED OUT. Look at that little lovebug. <hitmeuppp> No way. I’m crying. Ronin, the "devil" himself, cuddling?? <LUCA_IS_COOL> YOOOOO He’s gonna kill us. WORTH IT. <K9> .... He slowly looks up from his phone and you break, laughing so hard you start wheezing. Ronin at that moment, decided not to show you mercy. He gives me a smirk and taps a button. You look down. Uh oh.... <goreboy> Since you all asked sooo nicely... I've brought the executioner back from the dead My true love in the flesh <BOT> Can I eat the ceiling Rowen <Angelic> RONIN NOT AGAIN Wait... IS THAT Y/N what is that sentence <hitmeuppp> OH GOD damn that wisdom really left their body.. <You> .... Ronin. I’m going to end you.

Your phone hit the bed. You lunged. Ronin laughed as you collapsed onto him with all your post-op strength. Which, frankly, wasn’t much. He caught you easily, wrapping you in a bear hug while you wiggled like a furious caterpillar. Once you gave up, he ran a hand through your hair.

“Be grateful I’m being gentle while you’re still bleeding, sweetheart. But when you’re better?” He smiled. “It’s war.”

Before you could fight back, you winced. The meds had worn off, and your jaw was in burning pain He sighed, grabbed a bottle, and handed you a painkiller. You mumbled a thank you, snuggled back into him, and melted. Ronin didn’t speak again. Just held you. Let his fingers trace circles on your back. Let his heartbeat sync with yours.

He watched you. Held you. Loved you.

And you loved him, too.

FINALLY FINISHED THIS. I had my wisdom teeth removed and this idea hit me so fast... I hope I executed the vision well AAAAA

[chanelgrll]

A very killer christmas

Basically a continuation of offering to spend Christmas with ronin in the dlc! Credits to rosesrot for the first two lines of dialogue (from the dlc). First time writing one of these sorry if it sucks </3

"I can't fix it but... If you want we can spend it together? I'll be here and we can just... talk, hang out, game, whatever you want. Help you through today. Does that sound good?" "Yeah... Guess that's better than murdering godforsaken parents out there. You're... heh... you're a rotten saint. I appreciate it."

You shut your laptop like you’re closing the coffin on your responsibilities, bag slung over your shoulder, the apartment door creaking closed behind you like a final breath. It's cold out, not enough to bite, but enough to make you feel something. Christmas, of all days. And for once, it’s not bitter. You’re walking the path to Ronin’s place, a slow, familiar trail. Phone out, map open, not because you need it but because your fingers are too restless to stay still.

This is your first Christmas with him. Your first time calling him yours in December, Christmas.

Ronin’s house is a strange little den of sins and warmth, contradiction etched into every wall. You don’t knock. Would feel too formal for the devil you’ve chosen to love. Instead, you creep to the window, peer in — and there they are: those stupid little red horns peeking above the couch. A twisted halo for the man who once swore he’d never celebrate a holiday again.

You slip through the window, quiet, not sneaky. He turns his head, smile slicing across his face like a knife carving joy.

“Saint Nick, that you?” he grins, a devil dressed in mockery.

“Merry Christmas, loser,” you say, just before tackling him into a hug like you hadn’t been starving for it the whole damn week. His arms close around you like iron chains. It’s been weeks since you’ve touched him, busy drowning in half-written stories and deadlines that don’t care you’ve got a heart. He breathes out into the crook of your neck, and the world stills.

You glance around, the same clutter, the same ungodly symbols scratched into the corners. There's more of them now. It’s his way of surviving the season, probably. Drawing sigils instead of slashing parents. But that’s why you’re here. You’re the talisman this year.

Before your thoughts can crawl too far, Ronin scoops you up like you weigh nothing, deposits you on his bed, and looks through his stack of VHS tapes.

“Wanna watch somethin’?” he asks, the corner of his mouth curled up in a smile.

They’re all horror. Of course they are. Slashers, hauntings, twisted little films with too much blood and not enough plot, his idea of romance. You nod, because you love that part of him. The grotesque. The familiar.

You close your eyes for a moment, but open them again when you feel him crawling toward you, jacket off, expression soft in the low red light. He straddles you, arms on either side, hovering like a question.

Then he pulls something from his pocket.

“Found it,” he says, trying to hide the smile. Dangles the mistletoe above your head like it’s a weapon. “Misaki said this plant’s got kissing powers or somethin’. We oughta test it.”

You blink. “Ugh. Guess I owe you a kiss, then. What a tragedy.”

He leans in. Stops just shy of your lips. Breath warm. Voice lower. “Pretty,” he murmurs, and you forget how to inhale.

His hand slides to your jaw, firm, and then his lips meet yours like a slow exorcism. Desperate. Familiar. There’s a hunger in him that didn’t exist in spring, a softness laced with too many broken things. The kiss deepens, jaw tilting, hands gripping, and then he breaks away to mouth at your neck. Kisses, bites, teeth scraping skin like he wants to leave a map of himself behind.

You laugh, breathless. “Ro—hey! That tickles!”

He grins into your throat. “Thanks for coming by. Haven’t not killed someone on Christmas in...well. It’s been a bit.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, voice suddenly quieter. “Still. You here. In my hellhole. Warms the heart, if I had one.” He flops beside you, hand brushing yours. “You takin’ care of yourself?”

“Trying,” you reply, rolling onto your side. His fingers trace your face, nose to lips, slow and thoughtful. No smirk. Just him, raw, honest, a little haunted.

He’s clingy tonight. But you get it. December’s cruel. Especially to men like him.

“I knew you missed me,” you tease.

“Shut up, darlin'.” He shifts closer, buries himself against you like he could disappear inside your skin. One leg hooked over yours, arms curling around your torso. You breathe in: citrus, iron, gasoline — Ronin. Your fingers card through his hair, and he exhales, moving his hands under your shirt.

The TV flickers, painting him in pale light. He looks unreal. Beautiful in the way fire looks beautiful, right before it devours.

It’s mad, isn’t it? A year ago you were barely surviving his death threats. Now you’re surviving each other.

But this—this is different. This is sacred.

Your shirt’s ridden up. His fingers skim your waist, light and exploratory. Your breath stutters. He notices. Of course he notices. He’s a predator before he’s a boyfriend.

His hand drifts up, slow, thumb grazing below your ribs. You stop breathing. He hovers again, that same question in his eyes.

And then he’s kissing you again, fierce now, greedy, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. Like you’re a ghost and he’s never believed in the afterlife.

He pulls back, just enough to look.

You're laying there, flushed, hair a mess, neck covered in marks.

His face shifts. Something like reverence, or horror? Like loving you might actually be the thing that kills him. He kisses you again, hard.

And then—

ding!

Your phone vibrates. A message from your agent.

You groan. Reality, that miserable beast.

Ronin chuckles darkly. “Can’t catch a break, huh, sweetheart?”

“No, no, don’t worry. I’m here for you, remember?” you say, brushing the notification away.

He scowls. Ruffles your hair. “Tch. You bein’ here doesn’t mean you gotta bleed out for me, babe. I’m your fuckin’ boyfriend. I do love you a li, y’know.”

You raise an eyebrow. “A little?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

He hops up, grabs his old Gameboy like it’s a sacred relic. “Wanna play?”

You sit up, grin spreading. “Hell yeah.”

“You’re already in hell, darling,” he says, that devil’s smile back on his lips.

And you are. But it’s warm here. And the devil’s arms are wide open.

[chanelgrll]

Intro <3

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹ Hi you can call me chanel! She/her, 18+ Enfp 2w3 Neurodivergent borderline Bisexual ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩 I've got a little writing hobby I'll be putting up here <3 Basically it'll all be ronin stories but ohh well I hope everyone enjoys! ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ I'm into darker alternative style fashion, and games like silent hill and resident evil! My music taste is all over the place though ahahhaha Currently studying genetics in uni so this'll be my little hobby place

PLEASE DNI: if you are under 13 or over 30 (minors dni if the post specifies). No racism or homophobia, and basic DNI list stuff dm status: ask! Writing boundaries