"Dangerous boys and girls on the verge of losing it,
show your true selves, get down and party!
Don't mind their judgemental glares,
Chill out, and just get wild!"
Ronin x Reader, where ronin puts on a personal show (Hehe, a LIL murder in alleyway) for reader because they need inspiration?
TW : BLOOD, GORE
Beauty of Rot, Beauty of Him - Ronin x Reader
You were dumb.
Like, really dumb.
"Hey, can anyone with experience killing someone with a crowbar DM me?? it’s really important!! tysm."
You posted that. On a dark web board. Like some beginner in need of a walkthrough.
An ask for how to kill a person. With a crowbar.
And as it turns out?
The best fucking mistake you ever made.
Error: UNKNOWN.
Error: Not So Unknown Now. Error: You Got a Boyfriend Out of It.
Because someone did message back.
Not just someone. The Butcher.
Your Butcher.
Now your boyfriend.
Rotten God of Uptown’s back alleys, crowned in cartilage and martyrdom, crowned in blood.
They say he gores people like he’s stringing violins from intestines,
splashes the brickwork with bone-shards and sin.
Swings that crowbar like a conductor,
splatters skull into halo,
makes murder into gospel.
And now? He’s yours.
You still remember when he dropped a key into your DMs like it was a gift from the Devil himself —
well, maybe it was.
A server. A red room. A laugh.
Don’t be so Obvious smh you’re Gonna Get Caught — that’s what he said.
Right before giving you access to a Discord/j full of serial killers.
Butchered usernames. Gutted profile pics.
Everyone trying to one-up each other in filth and finesse.
You, though? You got something better.
You got Ronin.
It’s been ten months since that fateful crowbar moment.
Ten months of selfies
Ten months of late-night convos about blood viscosity.
Ten months of soft-spoken I love yous whispered between ruptured lung sacs.
Romance is bleeding.
And your boy wants to treat you.
No dinner.
Just a murder.
goreboy:
hopin to see ya darlin
You feel it in your bones — not fear, not nausea.
Anticipation.
Your own personal red room.
You joked about it once —
and Now, he's gonna put on a show.
You don’t know who the target is.
Might be a monster.
Might be some guy who cuts lines at the bank's
Ronin never tells you until the blood’s already pooling.
That’s part of the fun.
Inspiration on impact.
You're wearing boots that can step through brain matter.
You took a shower before this, which was stupid.
You’ll be showering in blood anyway.
You turn the corner.
There he is.
Leaning against the brick wall like some kind of death-dealing delinquent Cupid.
Crowbar slung over his shoulder.
Eyes bright, blackhole-shiny, grin split open across his face like a peeled fruit.
He’s all gore and glamor,
all ruin and romance,
a boy made of butcher cuts and fucked-up poetry.
"Heya, Darlin," he drawls, teeth white like an Angel's ruin
You smile.
You’ve always been ready.
You DMed him first, obviously.
No shame. No fear. Just that familiar static in your lungs, that high of being this close to something filthy.
you:
hey butcher boy u swingin that crowbar tonight or just compensating again
goreboy
oh look. it’s my favorite little freak.
thought i smelled ink and desperation
u comin or what? red carpet’s wet.
might be brain. might be yours. let’s find out.
you:
damn do u flirt with all your victims like this or am i special
goreboy:
only the ones who write poetry about spinal cords
and call me cute after i break a jaw sideways
hurry up darlin. don’t keep the devil waitin.
He always knew just how to say I missed you.
And then it dropped. The real thing.
No flirting this time, not exactly.
Just:
EXECUTIONER:
"come to Purgatory. tonight. bring whatever weird notebook shit u scribble in. I’ll give you something worth writing about."
"devil says hi, btw.
"lil mean tonight. love that. keep talkin shit and i’ll carve your name in someone’s ribs. wanna see?"
He always knew just how to say I missed you.
And then it dropped. The real thing.
No flirting this time, not exactly.
—
You pack a bag.
Notebook
Pen
Knife (not to use. just in case.)
A dream.
You saw him before you really saw him.
The man—his prey, his canvas—was huddled near a dumpster, shaking like a leaf in acid rain. Eyes blown wide, lips parted in a silent scream, knees buckled in a prayer that wouldn’t be answered. Sweat clung to his brow. His hands were bound, taped in a trembling little bow, like a gift no one wanted to unwrap.
And then there was Ronin.
He wasn’t even touching him yet.
No, Ronin was pacing slow, crowbar dragging behind him like a leash, metal shrieking against the concrete just enough to set teeth on edge. His steps were too measured, too graceful—it was a dance. A fucked-up, symphonic ballet of menace.
He didn’t even look at you as you stepped into the scene. Just kept circling.
Like a shark in a kiddie pool.
"Oh God," the guy whimpered.
"Please, man, I didn’t do anything—"
Ronin tilted his head, cracking his neck with a sickening pop. Still no words. Just a smile. That smile—the one that made your spine tighten and your thighs clench. Not out of fear. Not entirely.
You crept closer, notebook in hand, but the man saw you now—you, not Ronin—and his face twisted.
"You—you’re just standing there?! Help me! This guy’s insane!"
You blinked, like a deer caught in headlights made of raw meat.
"I’m with him," you said quietly. Then added,
"Kind of a date."
The man screamed.
Ronin cackled.
"Fuck, Darlin.. he gasped between laughs. "You’re really gonna make me blush sayin’ sweet shit like that."
You felt your face heat up, but not with shame. Not even guilt. Just... thrill.
"You’re scaring the hell out of him," you muttered, crouching behind the safety of your notebook.
Ronin raised a brow, licking blood from the side of his thumb like frosting.
"I am the hell. C’mon. Say that one again."
You scribbled, breath uneven. Quoting yourself like a freak.
“You’re scaring the hell out of him.”
Then added in shaky ink:
He is the hell.
The victim whimpered louder, rocking side to side now, muttering prayers like they were protection spells. You honestly couldn’t blame him. You felt the tremble in your own bones too. But it wasn’t fear—it was awe. That knife-edge thrill of watching a master at work.
You looked up.
Ronin was closer now. He’d stopped circling and was crouched in front of the guy, crowbar in one hand, the other under the man’s chin, lifting it with casual gentleness. It was obscene, the contrast. Like a lover about to kiss.
"Tell me a story," Ronin whispered to him.
"Tell me why your blood’s gonna be special."
The guy was sobbing now, babbling nonsense.
Ronin leaned in closer. "No? Then I’ll tell you one."
He turned to you, eyes glinting.
"You wanna write this down, Darlin"
You didn’t say yes. You didn’t have to.
Pen kissed page. And Ronin began.
"Once there was a man who liked to lie. Said he never hurt nobody. But lies?"
He brought the crowbar up and rested it against the man’s cheek.
"They rot the tongue. They rot the heart. I’m just the gardener."
CRACK.
You jumped.
The guy screamed. Blood bloomed across the bricks, painting the wall in fast, arterial strokes.
You’d never seen anything more horrifying.
You’d never seen anything more beautiful.
You wrote that down too.
Ronin didn’t stop—not for a while. He moved like a conductor, crowbar rising and falling to an unheard symphony. The victim’s screams grew hoarse, then wet, then stopped altogether. The sound of metal on bone filled the air like church bells.
By the end, it didn’t look like a body.
It looked like art.
Red. White. Pulp.
A rose garden of gore.
Fuck the guy's still alive.
Ronin finally straightened, shirt soaked, crowbar slick. He looked sated. Not tired. High.
And then, impossibly—he turned to you. Soft.
"You alright?"
You stared at him. Then down at your notebook.
At your handwriting—jagged, fast, shaking.
At the sketches in the margins.
At how much you’d written.
How inspired you were.
He steps back into frame like it’s stage left. Wipes the smile off his face and puts on something worse—an expression that’s all serenity. Peaceful. Reverent. Like a man praying before he wrecks something holy.
And that poor fucker on the ground? He’s trembling so hard his bones might rattle apart. You wonder if he even knows what's coming. Or if Ronin’s already told him. Whispered it sweetly in that honeyed voice, dripping rot like nectar, how he was going to make him into something worth remembering.
Ronin lifts the crowbar.
Not like he’s about to kill a man.
Like he’s about to paint.
CLANG.
It smashes into the ground beside the guy’s ribs again—just a tease. A wet warning. You watch as blood speckles the concrete. Not even from the hit—just from the fear. He’s bleeding from the nose now. A stress rupture. Ronin looks delighted.
“There it goes,” he says softly, watching the crimson dribble down. “Like clockwork.”
You find yourself breathing harder.
And you’re writing.
You don’t even realize it at first, not consciously. The pen scratches across the page like it has its own mind:
“He doesn’t kill for fun. He kills for structure. For design. For detail.”
“Each bruise has placement. Each scream has volume.”
“He doesn’t kill people. He erases them, makes meaning of them.”
Ronin kneels again. Cups the guy’s chin like he’s posing a doll.
“Don’t pass out now,” he hums. “We ain’t hit the chorus yet.”
You whisper, half-joking, “Tell him it’s for art.”
Ronin doesn’t even glance your way this time. Just smiles wider.
“It’s for art,”
The scream that rips out is pure animal.
You flinch. And then—you don’t.
Because it’s addictive. The sound of it. The feeling of being here.
Watching Ronin twist something alive into something raw. Something else.
You’re starting to wonder if this was always inside you. If it just needed the right person to peel the skin back and expose the nerves. You look down at your page.
You’ve drawn him.
Not the man on the floor. Ronin.
Sharp cheekbones. Bloody hands. Wide grin like a god with no church but his own red room. There’s a halo of crowbars around his head like a saint of carnage. And beneath it, you’ve scrawled:
“I think I love him.”
You almost laugh at yourself.
But you don’t tear the page out.
Ronin’s looking at you now. Not saying a word. Like he knows what you wrote. Like he could taste it through the air.
He stands slowly. The guy’s still breathing—barely. He’s not dead yet. You think Ronin’s waiting on you.
“Darlin’,” he says, voice slick with mirth and menace. “You wanna pick the finishin’ touch?”
Your breath catches. He’s offering you the last stroke.
You stare. You blink. You swallow.
Then you nod.
“Yeah.”
You don’t know what you’ll choose yet. But you know you’ll write about it after.
You’ll write all of it. Every inch of this living nightmare.
Because you were never the hero of this story.
You were just looking for a muse.
And you found him—in blood and concrete, in screaming men and the lullaby of breaking bone.
You found him.
Your devil. Your butcher. Your art.
At first, just to remember. A little scratch of ink, a reflection. Something poetic to keep the nausea away. But it didn’t stay poetic, not really. Your hand cramped from the speed, from the need, and the page bled black with words the way the floor bled red.
You weren’t just watching anymore. You were documenting. You were translating murder into metaphor. Gore into gospel.
“He paints with pain. That’s the medium.”
“He composes screams like violin notes, each snap of the bone a crescendo.”
“His hands aren't hands. They're brushes. He doesn’t kill. He curates.”
You glanced up from the notebook and saw it again—how Ronin tilted his head just before he struck, admiring the posture, the pleading, the panic.
And you got it.
The way the crowbar slid through air—how clean it sounded, the whistling hush before impact. The way he didn’t grunt or pant. Ronin didn’t labor. He moved like he was dancing, like his body already knew where the final stroke belonged.
“He kills with rhythm.”
“He kills with grace.”
“He doesn’t need a reason. The act is the art.”
You looked at the man he was killing—not the man. The canvas. The collapsed figure with his face bent inwards and his ribs shifting like a broken accordion. And somehow, some rotten part of you—
—you thought it was beautiful.
You understood him.
You thought, “This is how he loves.”
And still, you wrote.
“I saw the art.”
“I saw the beauty.”
“I saw how he kills.”
“He kills like a lover—softly at first, with admiration. Then all at once, with devotion.”
Ronin turned to you again. Bloody, heaving, smiling.
“You writin’ sonnets over there, Darlin?” he asked, tilting his head as the body gave a last twitch behind him. “Wanna read me one when I’m done cleanin’?”
Your mouth was dry. You licked your lips.
“I’m trying to keep up.”
He laughed. Low and pleased and ruinous.
“Darlin, if you keep writing like that, you’re gonna make me fall for you all over again.”
You looked down.
Your notebook was nearly full.
It was done.
The body lay still, sunken into itself like it was praying to the wrong god and got exactly what it asked for. Blood pooled like a frame around the chaos. Art, in the Butcher’s gallery. A ruined masterpiece.
You closed your notebook with a little snap, pen still trembling between your fingers.
“Thanks,” you said, soft. Honest. Like someone just cooked for you, and you meant it.
Ronin dragged the crowbar down the wall with a lazy scrape, shoulder slouched, chin lifted—swaggering toward you like a wet saint. Blood dripped from his chin like it was meant to. His eyes flicked over you with that look, like he was checking if you still breathed the same after watching him do what he was made for.
“C’mere,” he said, voice sticky with play. “You wanna help me sow ‘im up?”
You wrinkled your nose. “Nah.”
His brows raised. “Aw, how mean, Darlin’. I put on a show for ya, and you fuckin’ mean?” His voice pitched mock-wounded, but the grin was sharp, wicked—flirting. “Y’ain’t even gonna stitch the finale?”
You laughed, stupidly charmed. Your stomach was still a mess, your knees weak, but God—
Even if the Devil's scary, he can be cute.
He can be romantic, in that rotten way that makes your heart thump for all the wrong reasons. He’s the worst kind of sweetheart. The kind that calls you “Darlin” with a mouth still stained from slaughter. The kind that murders and flirts in the same breath.
He really is the god of gore.
He shrugged, licking blood off his bottom lip. “Next time, then. I’ll make it extra messy. You can pick where I break ‘em.”
And despite the stench, despite the twitch in your gut, you smiled and tucked your notebook closer to your chest.
Hey N, if you're willing, maybe a fic regarding Ronin's new oiled up art please 👉👈 (whether it's be NSFW or not is up to you!)
Wash It Away
You walk in on Ronin sitting in a chair after fixing another car, he's covered in sweat and motor oil and as a good partner should you'll help him clean up a bit.
Words: 1208
sorry dear reader i'm not feeling the smut today </3
also go check @munstxr profile to see the art that the anon is asking for!
cws: idfk spoilers for killer chat maybe, a sweaty man, washing said man's chest with a wet cloth idk man it's still not explicit !!!!
A week ago you asked Ronin if he could fix your car, he's a mechanic so maybe he would show some kindness to you and spare you from looking for a mechanic in Uptown who wouldn't damage your car more than it already is. He agreed, though his words sounded more like you were striking a deal with the devil rather than getting a favour from your boyfriend.
"Sure, I can fix your car baby, but what's in it for me? C'mon now, we both know that you want it done for free, no need to lie." The look in his eyes was screaming trouble from far away. "I will do it, but nothing's for free. Oh, what Imma have ya do? Nothin' too complicated, you should be able to do it, y'know, since you're a writer 'n all." You should've known that he would ask you to do that. "Write me a love note, pick a person, write them a story and give it to me, if 's good enough I might bring you a lil gift sometime soon."
And you did it, you paid for the deal you made, wrote a story for a man you saw on the train station, he stood out to you, talked to young girls and asked for their numbers, you knew that Ronin would absolutely eat up that story you'd give him. To say that he ate it up would be an understatement, he devoured it. He gnawed on the man, swung his crowbar at him and brought you the man's hand holding a heart as a gift.
"He won't touch anythin' different now." The smile he gave you that evening was sick, twisted in the most deranged way possible.
And you were the one to eat it up. The gore he brought to your life. You just loved it all.
Now, after the bargain was sealed you could come back for your car, stroke your boyfriend's ego about the job he did and maybe get a promise of a bonus check up soon. Who would expect Beaufort to be such a self loving arrogant asshole. Well, you would.
"I'm here!" You called out when you entered his work shop. The place reeked of motor oil, car paint and tires. As you would expect a mechanic's workshop to smell.
It was a mess, tools and car parts all around the place, you were surprise that anyone could find their way around and get the correct parts. You went in deeper, the vehicle you came to collect in your view now. It looked so much better than before you left it under his care, maybe even better than when you first bought it. You walked around the car, Ronin nowhere in sight, you thought that he was busy so you decided to wait there. Thanking him at the very least you could do.
You got tired of waiting after ten minutes (you're not the most patient person the world has ever seen) and decided to go to the staff only parts of the workshop. Ronin wouldn't be angry at his lover for snooping around his work, right? Right?!
You went through the door and walked through a dark corridor, there was some skull graffiti on it, truly fitting for Ronin's place of work. You saw a man's figure through a slightly opened door on your side, figuring that it was your favourite sweet serial killer you went through them.
You weren't prepared for the sight inside.
Ronin was sitting in a chair, manspreaded like he owned the place, his leather jacket hanging from the chair, a shirt in his hand and very obviously not on his body. You were flustered by the sudden sight of your boyfriend completely shirtless with his chest stained with motor oil was a shock for you and he looked really attractive in your humble opinion, though you'd never admit it out loud.
"Like what you're seein', darlin'?" He asked, his voice alone told you just how tired he was. Yeah your boyfriend's pretty cool.
You smiled, not saying anything at first. "I'd like you more if you weren't oily and sweaty."
He cackled at your response. "As snarky as always and even after all the work I've put into fixin' your car. Tsk, tsk, I won't do anythin' for ya again." He grabbed a cloth from the ground and tossed it at you.
"Hey! Watch where you're throwing your dirty cloths." You huffed after catching it.
He sent you an air kiss. "If you hate how I look, why don'tcha clean me? I will spare ya from using your flowery words on me."
At first you were going to call his "request" absurd, but then you gave it more thought. Ronin was clearly exhausted and it's because he was fixing your car after he should be done with work. You owed him more than a thrill kill, you should've do this much for him.
So you went to the bathroom, cleaned the cloth and soaked it. You returned to Ronin and after saying a quick excuse me sat in his lap. It would make your work easier and wouldn't hurt as much, or that was your explanation for doing that.
"Hah, since when are you so eager to help?"
"Shut up."
This was a really intimate moment for the two of you, sure you saw Ronin without his shirt on before and by society's standards more intimate situations than this one. But something about washing him when he's tired was just way deeper than any endeavours you had before.
You were so focused on cleaning Ronin's shoulders that you didn't even notice when his hand came to rest on your back, gently rubbing and making circle motions with his fingers. This was a calming sensation, just a gentle gesture from your boyfriend and you loved it.
You made your way lower, gently rubbing his chest with the cloth to get the sweat and oil off, you were a little flustered with how much you were touching his chest even if it was through a cloth.
"Mm good job, it's already mostly off." Ronin murmured, leaning forward, his forehead resting on your shoulder now as his arm wrapped more around you. He was clinging to you like a tired cat.
Cute.
"We can go soon, I'll give you a ride."
"With the car I fixed?" He scoffed.
"Exactly that car." You patted his head.
"At least it'll work properly."
You didn't reply, returning to the task at hand. You washed the last bits of sweat from his skin, feeling a sense of disappointment at the fact that it was already over. Maybe you're a freak like him too. You shook your head going back to reality.
"Ro, come on let's go." You said.
He didn't reply, still resting his forehead on your shoulder. You were surprised.
"Ro?" You gently patted his shoulder, instead of replying he just murmured and moved his head a bit. You chuckled when you realised that he feel asleep.
"Pfft, poor baby, so tired he fell asleep."
You picked up to leather jacket from behind him and tossed it around his shoulders. Now you just had to wait for him to wake up.
I'm cursed with making heartfelt fluff or gut wrenching angst </3
but i hope that u all still liked this ! even if it turned cutsy at the end
I don't know how to draw him atp, so I'm just using every image I saved 83029 years ago for "references" that I actually never ended up using but I'm using them now to draw this fine specimen
Ronin x reader who actually ends up killing somebody for him? I’ve always wished this was a choice in game lmao
Bloody Confessions
Bravo darlin', you're finally showing your teeth. Killing for the Devil's Butcher, provin' him your love. What a sweet killer you are.
Ronin x g.n. reader, killing for him, love confessions
Words: 1343
Cws: Spoilers for Killer Chat! Ronin's route, murder, blood, MAYBE gore but i would take it with a grain of salt
<goreboy> [16:50]
i like you as far as i can Throw You
and i can Assure you ive Thrown many Corpses in my time
heh
will you Carve an Aorta out for me? cut it Filthy and Breathing
Do It like the Romantics do
i haven't Forgotten your Need to Prove yourself to me
Ronin's messages were supposed to get a rise out of you, make you nervous, shaken. Yet, they didn't. You read the words he wrote and with each you felt yourself fall a little deeper in love with him. With the devil. Your cheeks flushed, your heart beating faster than ever as if it wanted to rip itself out of your chest and offer itself to Ronin.
You didn't think twice before sending your reply, smiling to yourself after hitting enter.
<your_username> [16:51}
I'll do it.
Short and simple, very straight forward of you. You were acting on your emotions, the need for praise and attention from Ronin, you wanted him to see you, to notice your efforts and how far you'd go to win his affection.
Maybe that was a little fucked up thing to do, but you had to be fucked up even before accepting the invite from an unknown user on the dark web, no one sane would ever step their foot there for research. No one sane would obsess so much about their killer protagonist not being killer enough.
You never thought that you'd be planning a murder, a real murder. Looking for victims, preparing weapons, doing even more research about corpses, especially how to cut them. the research you had to do for your story and the things you learned from the serials through Slaughterhouse Losers were also put into your "Murder for Ronin" planner.
Gods, darling you really are one insane writer.
You left your house, black clothes covering you from head to toe, gloves on your hands, bag hanging from your shoulder. In the bag there was a mask, a black simple mask to cover your face in case someone would spot you while you're preparing the lovely gift for a certain plum haired guy. You also had a knife there, maybe not an original weapon, but you didn't want to risk it and buy something more special, even if Ronin did deserve the murder you wanted to serve as an offering to be committed with the prettiest knife you could possibly find.
You were walking around Uptown, night bathing the district in darkness, the streetlights doing poor job at lighting up the streets, flickering or being broken and not turning on anymore and since it's Uptown, no one is willing to fix them when there's a bunch of active threats lurking around every corner.
You've found your victim after taking a few strolls around the dirty alleys, kicking trash with your shoes and glancing at all the graffiti made by teens who had way too much free time on their hands and needed a way to express themselves and distract from the pain of existing in such filthy parts of town.
It was a man, at first glance he was nothing special, at least until you've noticed that he was burning something, a flag, in the lights of the fire you could make out its colours; pink, blue and white. You knew these colours, they were the colour of the trans flag.
That motherfucker is burning someone's trans flag.
You gritted your teeth, clenched your hands in fists. Anger making you see red, blood boiling hot in your veins, the urge to just snap his neck right then and there was strong, tempting even. Like the devil on your shoulder, whispering into your ear and creating many different visions of that man's death in your mind. Gruesome visions that should disgust you and make you vomit, but all they did was make you feel excited, fantasise about his screams and how you could make them even louder.
"Hey, who the fuck do you think you are?!" The man shouted when you bumped into him when walking past him. You needed to lure him deeper into the alley and getting on his nerves was the fastest and easiest method.
And, of course, it worked.
He was following behind you, shouting and cussing. Finally, your lack of reactions pissed him off enough to catch up to you and pull you back by your shoulder. He played perfectly how you wanted, coming straight into your trap. The deadly kind.
You pulled out the knife from your bag, your mask on your face already. You turned around, the time going in slow motion for you.
The knife cut through the man's clothes and then stomach. You heard his breath hitch, a shocked gasp escaping him.
"Wh...what the fuck?"
You didn't care to answer. You sliced the knife through his stomach, hearing the flesh cut and tear under the impact. Blood soaked the man's clothes, leaking through them and dripping to the ground, painting the pavement deep crimson.
"it's your end. Your pathetic life is coming to it's end, asshole." You cackled, the sound twisted and wicked, nothing you've ever heard yourself sound like before.
He stumbled back, trying to make an escape, the attempt failing miserably as he fell to the ground, the pain from the cut catching up to him.
His screams sounded beautifully, true music to your ears.
You crouched next to him, lifting up the mask, a huge grin on your lips. With sparkles in your eyes you watched the life slowly escape his body as his guts were leaking out, making their way down his stomach and into the pool of blood that was forming under him.
"Tsk, tsk, I thought you'd serve me for a bit longer, what a bummer." You pouted and put the knife to his throat, creating a deep and long cut all the way through it. "Well then, I don't need you leaving and breathing to get the thing I need anyway."
Now you're even talking to corpses, how sweet.
You cut his clothes open, not willing to waste time on properly taking them off or ripping them open. You had more pressing matters to get to, like carefully getting to his heart and ripping it out.
The process was dirty, nastier than anything you've done in your life. You looked at your masterpiece, skin flaps you cut off tossed on the ground carelessly, the ribs broken and shattered, you were really unbothered with making him pretty.
The organ you needed was in front of you, unprotected, on full display, just for you to take.
And take it you did.
Pulling it out was a challenge, but you accomplished it. The barely beating organ in your hands, still warm. Leaking and bleeding out, dirtying your clothes. You didn't care. You would wash them anyway.
You pulled out your phone, opened your camera, made sure the body was visible behind you when you took the picture. You were holding the heart up, tongue sticking from your mouth when you took the picture.
You sent it to #killer_shit, adding a little description to it.
<your_username> [23:34]
Is this proof enough, @/goreboy?
With that out of the way, you gathered your things, stood up and left the alley. It's time to get home, pretend to be a normal person and not, you know, someone who just killed a man some time back.
But before you could go to sleep after you were done with everything you had to do back home, you had to check on the server. The killers were cheering, happy to finally see bloodshed from you, or in V's case, disappointed. There was one thing that kept your attention away from the compliments though.
Ronin's private message having an exclamation mark right next to them; he texted you. Finally.
<goreboy> [00:05]
well well Baby
maybe well be quite The murder buddies after all
sleep now and maybe Tomorrow there'll be a devil Waiting for you
The Devil was proud, satisfied with how far you went for him.
I hope you liked this little piece, rotten darlings :p
A story for my oc Luce x Ronin, first date, fluff with a little twist.
Cw: blood, descriptions of murder, spoilers for Killer Chat!
"Are you sure about this Angel?" Luce said while her friend stood in front of her, putting pink eyeshadow on her eyes.
The woman was getting ready for her date, a date with Ronin Beaufort, a serial killer she met through Slaughterhouse Losers after Angelic, also known as The Heartsick Angel, invited her to the server.
It was a surprise for Luce when the man showed interest in her, after all they had two completely different aesthetics and she thought that she's way too light and pastel for his liking. Yet somehow the two of them had great chemistry, Ronin being the flirt that he was and Luce not shying away even if his words made her flustered.
Ronin always complimented her kills whenever she sent them in the server or a new news report met the daylight after the police finally shared some information with the press.
<goreboy> wow luce, you're Really Lighting up the streets with your lil art
<goreboy> truly The last light Of Our lives
He'd call her whenever she saw her online and sometimes send her his kills in DMs as an excuse to send her a selfie.
The whole server saw their obvious interest in each other, Angel taking over the role of Cupid, getting the two of them to go out on a date instead of flooding the server with their "little fling."
So now, here Luce was, having her make up done by her best friend while she stressed out about the date she was about to go to.
"For the hundredth time Luce, yes I am sure about this! You look fabulous already and I am barely halfway done with your make up." Angel sighed and put away the make up brush.
She took Luce's hands in her own and looked into her light green eyes.
"Luce, you're one of the prettiest girl I know, you have a heart of gold and are an amazing person. If Ronin won't like you, which I am sure will never happened because all I hear about from him is you, then I will beat the idiocy out of him." The youtuber squeezed her friend's hands gently and gave her a soft smile. "Now, let us finish you up with some lip-gloss and blush." She pat her on her shoulder and tucked some of the loose blonde strands of hair behind Luce's ear.
"Thanks Angel, it means a lot." The florist replied and let her friend continue with her make up artist duties.
Luce stood in front of the mirror, looking at herself in awe. Her dark blonde hair usually put up in a bun, were now put in two braids with two light pink bows at the end of them. Her fair skin was smoothed out with make up, her light green eyes were framed with glittery-pink eyeshadow, Angel paid extra attention to the make up to make sure that Luce's freckles were still visible "for more cuteness". Her outfit was just adorable; pastel pink baggy turtleneck-sweater, brown chequered pattern short flared skirt with a Hello Kitty pink bow attached to it. On her legs she was wearing dark brown tights, white legwarmers with pink bows and black Mary Janes. She was also wearing a light brown jacket and a pastel pink scarf, it was late February after all.
"So, what do you think?" Angel asked excitedly, standing right next to Luce and looking at her in awe.
"Woah... I look so... beautiful." She felt like she could cry right there and then.
Luce, a woman who fought her whole life just to be able to be the woman she desired to be for so long, now looked at her reflection in her mirror and could happily say that she sees a woman, maybe slightly taller than most, but still a very beautiful young woman. If it wasn't for the make up on her face she could tear up and cry in Angel's shoulder, thanking her for helping her so many times.
"Thank you Maria, without you I don't think I could ever find so much love for myself." She whispered, pulling Angel into a tight embrace.
The model smiled, rubbing her friend's back gently. "Shh, look at yourself sweetheart, you're a brave young woman and I believe there's a guy waiting for you in front of your house." She giggled, looking out the bedroom's window to see Ronin standing next to his motorcycle right outside Luce's home.
"He's already here?!" Luce turned around, gasping in surprise. "Oh my god... He's here!" She wasn't sure if she was more excited or stressed, but she was quick to pick up her tote bag with daisies painted all over it and kissed Angel on the cheek before she made her way out of the house, shouting a quick "Remember to lock the door when you leave and text me when you're home, dearie!" to Angel.
She walked slowly towards Ronin, shyer than she expected herself to be, after all she was much more open and brave in calls with him.
"Hey there, pretty lady." Ronin said when she finally stood in front of him, taking her hand into his and placing a quick kiss on the top of her hand.
Luce's cheeks burned up at the gesture, her eyes straying away from Ronin for a second. "Good to see you too, emo boy." She collected herself quickly. "Wow you finally changed that skull t-shirt." She said, looking him up and down.
Ronin was attractive to say the least, even if Luce would be playfully rude to him from time ot time, that emo aesthetic was definitely his and she couldn't imagine him as anything else but a bastardising Shakespeare emo guy.
"And you on the other hand wore as much pink as possible," He paused and leaned in closer, his mouth at her ear. "you wear the colour well, love." She nudged him with her elbow. "Ah sorry, sorry, I forgot you're trying to play a mean cool girl today." He chuckled and backed away.
"I'm not-! Ugh, never mind. Are we going for that date or do you want to let Angel watch us?" She asked and turned away to see Angel giggling and trying to hide behind a curtain.
Ronin shook his head and waved at Angel.
"Yeah, let's get outta here, doll." He outstretched his hand towards Luce who accepted it with no second guessing. Holding hands with Ronin? On their first date? Seriously, the butterflied in her stomach will kill her one day.
Luce didn't live in Uptown for long, so she was really surprised when Ronin took her to an ice cream shop that she was yet to see before. It was really sweet, its main colours were white and yellow and it had lots of sunflowers everywhere she looked. They were seated at a small table at the very back of the place, next to a window with a view at the square where some smaller artists sometimes came to sing or play for tips.
"So, how dya like it?" Ronin asked, sitting across from Luce, holding a cup of apple crumble ice cream in his hand while he moved a plastic spoon through the dessert.
Luce was digging in her own ice cream, strawberry and vanilla flavoured. She looked around once again, smiling at the beautifully growing sunflower standing near the counter. "It's a sweet place, thank you for taking me here Ro." She gave him a beaming smile.
"Heh, I'm glad ya like it, wouldn't want to bore my pretty girl to death, now would I?"
"Yours, am I now?" She chuckled and gently kicked him from under the table.
"Well, you have my aorta between your fingers, just how you usually have the flowers you take care of, it's time for me to take your aorta." He lowered his voice so no one else besides Luce would hear him.
Her green eyes sparkled with joy when he said that, nothing's more romantic than a serial killer telling another serial killer that she owns his heart.
"You're so in love with me already, Beaufort?" She asked teasingly, eating some of her dessert.
He chuckled. "And what if I am? Is it a crime to love a woman who lights your day?" That was an obvious play on Luce's killer name.
She scoffed. "Even if she could be the last light you'd ever see?" Luce raised an eyebrow, not caring if anyone heard her or cared to think more about her saying a name of a serial killer.
"Oh darlin', for woman like her? I'd become blind any day." He chuckled and dug out a bigger portion of his ice cream. "Say ahh." Ronin said, bringing the spoon closer to Luce's mouth.
"What is this? A romcom?" She titled her head, some of her hair falling on her cheek.
"you said you loved 'em, didn't you? Now, open wide~." He chuckled. "I'd bless ya with a taste of heaven."
She rolled her eyes, letting Ronin feed her with his snack. She felt the ice cream melt on her tongue, the taste of a sweet apple mixed with the spicy crumble left a pleasant aftertaste on the woman's palate.
She pouted when Ronin stole some of her ice cream. "Trade, dessert of dessert." He shrugged with that shit-eating grin on his lips.
"What's with you and trading hm? Secret for secret, story for story and now even ice cream."
"'s my brand."
"One of many." She rolled her eyes and fixed her hair, getting annoyed by the feeling of her hair on her face.
"You get me so well, pretty." Ronin said jokingly. "Alright, chop chop, we have places to be."
"Huh? What do you mean?" She asked, confused.
"What? Ya didn't think this was the last of our date?" He cackled. "Nah baby, we're going for a lil romantic sight seeing."
"I feel like 'sight seeing' isn't necessarily what most people would have in mind." Luce said, eating a big chunk of her ice cream, enjoying this last bit of peace.
"Awh, you know me so well, darling."
Turns out; Luce was right. They were standing at a end of one of many Uptown's shabby alleys, truly a prime spot for a date. Sight seeing turned out to be people watching, Luce told him what flowers the people reminded her of, explaining to Ronin why and what the meaning behind said flower was.
"That big guy is a yellow rose?" Ronin asked in disbelief, cackling as if Luce just told him the funniest joke ever.
"Obviously! He looks like he's the best friend you could ever have! Like the type of guy who gives you bear hugs and stuff." She said it like it was the most commonly known thing about a random person.
"Yeah, yeah, you just gave me a random flower, didn't ya?" Ronin laughed and put his arm around Luce's shoulder.
Luce laughed nervously. Her mind wasn't in the same place as her body, she was lost in thoughts, worried about something.
Ronin noticed immediately, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, what's up? I see you're not really present here with me." He said, rubbing her shoulder with his hand.
"It's nothin-..." She didn't finish, there was no reason for her to lie, Ronin saw right through her anyway. "I... prepared something for you, but with the route we're taking I don't think it's possible for me to take you to the gift naturally." She sighed and added in a hushed voice. "And I worked so hard on that thing."
"Oh? A gift, for me? Darling, you should've said so. C'mon, now I'm all curious." He turned her face so she'd look at him and looked straight into her eyes. "Won't you indulge me now. my light?"
She scoffed and nudged him with her elbow. "It's Your Last Light, butcher." She took his hand in his. "Now come on, or your eagerness and curiosity will be the death of me." She dragged him out of the alley and led him further into the deepest and filthiest parts of Uptown.
Ronin knew the way so well he didn't even need to look around to know where they're header. The graffiti on brick walls, broken glass scattered on the floor, piss and vomit staining the walls of the long closed corner stores. An even cuter and romantic place for a date.
"You decided to take the devil to his Purgatory?" He asked once the two of you stood in front of said alley, the alley known and feared by many, the alley belonging to the sinner and saint of Uptown, the man who brought them ruin and salvation. The Devil's Butcher.
"Yeah, cause I came here to kill you." She said lightheartedly, dragging him deeper into the alley.
"Oh, there's nothing I wish for more. A woman after my own heart really." His grin was wicked, sick even.
Ronin was proudly watching his little "workshop", not noticing that Luce wasn't holding his hand anymore and was kneeling between the gore and fifth of the place, in front of a body The Butcher didn't leave there.
"Close your eyes!" She shouted, standing up from the ground, holding something in her hands.
Ronin listened, covering his eyes with his and and listening as Luce's footsteps got closer with every move she made.
"Ready?' She whispered.
"I was born ready, doll." Ronin could beat that she rolled her eyes when he heard her scoff.
"Then... open your eyes."
Ronin heard the change in her voice, she sounded nervous, it piqued his interest more.
What he saw when he opened his eyes was just beautiful.
Luce was holding a human skull in her hands, a real, fresh human skull. White lilies tangled into its eye holes, blood staining them. His breath hitched when he took the carefully prepared gift from her hands.
"What's the meaning?" He asked.
It was a form of art, of course it had a meaning.
"You're in my thoughts. Haunt me in my dreams." She whispered. "It's not a heart yet, but I hope that my mind is enough for you, for now." She said, looking away from him, finding her shoes very interesting.
Ronin titled her head up, the look in his eyes, insane, sick, loving. Luce never seen him so happy before, the sight itself made her stomach go crazy.
"It's the best thing you could've given me," He whispered. "and trust me, that heart will be mine soon, darling."
Flowers dipped in blood little by little, just how the devil was falling for the light.
An art of Luce and Ronin made by @sincerelyyourslilly <3
I love my sillies and I hope that you guys will adore my baby girl Luce just as much as I do!
I’ve been listening to “Kiss Me You Animal” by Burn the Ballroom on loop thinking about masc!reader singing it to Ronin- every line like some sort of twisted love confession
Please I’m begging I can stop thinking about it
Sang Confessions.
Ronin x masc!reader, concerting for the devil? what a cute way to confess, darlin'
Cws: spoilers for Killer Chat!
the places (other than Uptown as that is the place of Killer Chat's action) are made up because none of the official sources gave me a concert venue </3
I will use They/Them for the reader but I will make sure to make them more masc leaning <3 dw pookie I — your token masc agender diva, gotchu!
The Devil entered his alley, grin glued to his lips as he stepped confidently through the gore he created, limbs and guts scattered like trash, blood covering the pavement and brick, graffiti mixing in with the rot of this place. That was Purgatory — The Butcher's territory, and now apparently his meet up place for him and his lover.
He was supposed to meet up there with you, his handsome singer darling. You uttered the devil's name, it was time for you to decide your and his fates, will you kiss him or will you kill him?
Ronin walked around the alley, looking for you with his black-hole eyes, yet, you were nowhere to be found. They probably fuckin' chickened out. He thought to himself, ready to go to your place and get you himself, if you were to scared to meet up with him maybe it was his cue to kill you.
Before Ronin could make his way to your house, ( you should seriously guard your IP better, darlin' ) he received a notification from his, someone sent him a private message.
<Y/n> hptts/concert_of_a_raising_music_star!.com
<Y/n> You should check it out, devil boy ;p
He chuckled to himself. You little trickster, you had to have your way with him, give him more ground to chase you on. Good. It would be boring if you were any other way. Ronin put his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and went towards the most popular concert spot in Uptown, the Arnos Park.
Arnos Park was a place where most niche-slash-indie artists came to show off their new found passion for music, sometimes real concerts were held in that hot spot. It wasn't a pretty place, heck most of Uptown wasn't pretty, it was either an entertainment pit, a metal jungle so to speak or an overgrown, trashed area with drug users and alcoholics laying face down and murmuring about their life being poetic in some fucked up way. Truly a place of filth, perfect for The Devil's Butcher to claim and cleanse of its sin in Purgatory.
He walked around the park, eyes scanning the people around him, alt, runaway teenagers trying to escape the pain of reality, queer kids who hide their problems by showing off their queerness in the most grotesque ways, and some adults who were these kids once before. Ronin knew your audience pretty well, you talked about their sweet messages once he revealed to you that he knows who you are. They thanked you for your music, for giving them comfort and understanding through your artistry filled with your feelings and experiences. You loved these people, even if you didn't know them personally.
He stood right in front of the stage, first row, perfect view of your first — and possibly last performance in your life. He watched as a man, possibly another niche rockstar, entered the stage with a microphone in his hand.
"Ladies and gentlethems! Let us welcome, the one and only, more masc than y'alls dads will ever be, Y/n!" The way he announced you made most of the kids in the audience laugh, ah yes, daddy issues. Ronin gave him a small applause, smirking at his words too.
Then, after the man left the stage, finally there you were, in all your glory. Your style had that strong touch of punk on it, it made you handsome to say the least. Electric guitar held in your hand when you entered the stage with a big beaming smile on your lips.
"Hey everyone!" You said to the mic, your eyes scanning the crowd until they found him and lingered on him for a bit. The crowd cheered at the welcome, chanting your name.
"Today I will present to you all my new song! A song dedicated to a man, a man so special his love is murderous." You said it looking at him the whole time.
The crowd went wild, giving you an exaggerated "ooh" like a friend when they notice that you may have a crush on someone.
"I called the song: Kiss Me You Animal." You added and started playing.
The sounds of electric guitar filled Ronin's ears, smooth and upbeat, controlled by your skilled hands. Then, your voice joined in, it wasn't gentle, it was raspy, rough around the edges, just how you.
Ten thousand candles couldn't light all the darkness in your heart
God, it's crazy how I need your friction
My thriller scandal, take a bite, boy you know my favorite part
I'm so desperate for your sweet affliction
The lyrics were electrifying, the more Ronin hears the more it felt like a song dedicated to him, and maybe it was exactly what this whole song was about? Him. Your love for him. You did invite him to come and watch you perform on the exact day he was about to meet you in his alley, take your aorta as his or shape you into a real serial killer.
You kept your eyes on him, signing your heart out just for him. You no longer cared about the other people watching you, swaying to your song, dancing and having fun. There was only Ronin. Ronin looking at you, Ronin smiling, Ronin clapping his hand slowly and deliberately.
You say you wanna tear right through me
I welcome you to try
You felt your cheeks burning. This song was intimate, reserved only for Ronin, only for your love for him. The sweet sweet desire you had in your heart. You were so in love with this crazy man, nothing else mattered, no one else mattered. Your eyes could only stay on him with every word leaving your mouth, with every sound your guitar made.
You felt like this was your dream come true.
Cause dying on your lips is how I wanna go
Connect with the sound you're making
Connect with my body whoa
Kiss me you animal and don't ever let me go
You nearly finished your song, signing the chorus for the last time before doing a little solo on your guitar, electric and fast.
The song was over, you had no more songs to play and there was a devil waiting for you somewhere behind the stage. The people gathered whined when you left but you just shot them a smile and promised more music coming out.
More music about your romance with a serial killer, that's for sure.
You put the instrument into its case and put it on your back, saying goodbye to the crew and wishing luck other small groups who wanted to show off their talent and passion for music.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket, your pulled it out and opened it.
<goreboy> see Ya in the Tress
<goreboy> not too Far from Where you are right now, baby
You scoffed, amused by this little message he left you. The devil chased by the lamb, ironic.
Your eyes scanned the area as you entered the small overgrown part of the park, trees tall and thick, blocking everyone from viewing what's happening inside the small wooden terrain. A perfect place for your meeting with The Butcher.
He was standing there, leaning his back against a tree, clapping his hands when you approached him.
"Well, well, look who we have here. The rising star of rock." He grabbed you by your wrist and pulled you closer once you stood in front of him.
"Nice to see you, Butcher." You didn't back away, there was no reason to do so.
Your heartbeat fastened when you looked into his eyes, his face so close to yours, your body touching his. Your breath hitched.
"So," He started, holding your chin with his hand. "this was your little confession? How... adorable." He whispered.
"Did you like it?"
"Oh, like it? No." He paused, laughing when you gave him a pout. "I ravished in it, loved it even. Your little love, rotten confession. Give me more of it, sing to me, tell me how much you love this gruesome killer."
You didn't sing, you didn't speak, no. You kissed him instead. Feeling his lips against your like they were your favourite drug, your favourite taste. Driving you insane with every moment.
He kissed back, holding you close to his body.
He was your destruction.
And you were his siren, bringing destruction to yourself with songs dedicated for him.
Ronin X reader, bloody ending for a killer romance.
Tws: blood, slight gore, this isn't angst but it's a little fucked up romance :p
You were standing at the very end of purgatory. Your eyes glued to the body parts splattered all over the alley, graffiti covered by blood, rubbish mixed with guts and flesh. It was a horrifying view for sure.
But not for you, you came there knowing what is waiting for you. After all, the devil himself invited you into his small haven.
Ronin was nowhere to be found when you first entered the alley, it was just you and the gore. Finally a whistle was heard from your side, and the sound of something metalic being dragged on the concrete ground.
"Well, well, look who's here, my little writer themselves." He said, crackling when he stopped in front of you. "Hah, you look way better like this. Eye to eye, breath to breath." He added in a hushed voice.
"Couldn't pass on an invite from the Devil himself." You replied, studying his face. He was smirking, the void of his eyes locked on your eyes, his gaze sent a shiver down your spine.
"Awh so devoted." He titled his head to the side and pushed you against a wall.
Your breath hitched in your throat when he brought a knife to your neck.
"Makes me want to open you up, curve your heart out all filthy and hot and leave you here to rot. Watch as your body becomes one with my alley." He whispered, these words sounded like a confession of his devotion, or maybe you're just too deep into this madness?
Your heartbeat fastened when Ronin leaned in closer. His lips just inches from yours.
"Would you let me do it? Would you let me take your last breath?" His words brought destruction.
You knew it.
He knew it.
You desired it
He knew you desired it.
"Yes." A simple response, filled with more emotions that anything else you could say.
Ronin looked into your eyes, his smirk rezonish when he realised just how madly you desired it, how ready you were to pledge your whole self to him.
"Oh darlin', such a lovely sight. I will enjoy it, and then I will replay this moment in my mind for eternity." He kissed you.
It wasn't gentle, it wasn't sweet nor was it tender. His lips were crashing into your, like he wanted to devour your whole self in a single kiss, like you were supposed to become one.
You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, trying to get as close as you could to him.
Then, in one moment, you could swear that you would snap his neck when you felt the sharp pain of a knife cutting through you chest.
Your breath hitched, your eyes opened wide. The dark void met you once again. He was studying your reaction, you felt his lips form into a smirk and you could see it when he broke the kiss. Holding you by the back of your head while he still kept the knife deep in your chest.
"My, my, you're so beautiful like this baby. Dying and rotten." He whispered, planting a kiss to your forehead, holding you closer when he pulled the knife out. "I'm going to make you into s beautiful bloody massacre, your death will be truly artistic, my divine darling." It was a vow, a vow stronger then any other he could make you in that moment.
Ronin looked down at your body, the same body he was curving a masterpiece out of a few moments ago. Your chest was cut open, the flesh wrapped around your ribs. He cut a hole in your ribs and reshaped your lung to make it look like it was a place for the missing heart he was now holding in his hand.
"You're absolutely beautiful." He whispered, kneeling in front of you. He planted a kiss to your lips, basking in the last bit of warmth still present on your body.
You are now going to rot.
You will be truly as rotten as he is.
Or maybe you were already the same rot?
Let us all burn in hell.
N
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