Zaii

Ithinkurcool

[zhuuszhuu]

THREE WAY KISS W/ TWIN BROTHER'S WANDERER AND SCARA !

‧˚🍷— Being friends with twin brothers wasn't easy—especially when you were friend with benefit with one and childhood friend with the other. A relationship supposed to be forever unknown comes to the light and ruins everything, or. . .does it?

‧˚꒰💋꒱— fwb!Scara x FEM!Reader x bestfriend!Wanderer

CW/TW: mentions of sexual relationship (🗿) :: Wanderer has feelings for Reader :: angst :: no smut :: nsfw (ig) :: some smau part :: comfort part is not 🔛🔝 :: and more (?) .

Dividers by: @/pixopix & @/pxrce-lain !

You were so pent up.

Spending all day with teachers who do nothing but yell, stupid classmates who are always asking for explainations for the dumbest things—and a huge pile of homeworks not getting done anytime soon was on your desk.

And of course the dull ache between your legs was nowhere near going away. You didn't smoke, do drug or go to parties, any way teenagers seemed to cool off by doing made you even more frustrated. Which resulted to you having to visit Scaramouche, the only one who could make you forget about today and the only one who could fix the problem you've been having down there.

And honestly, if you had thought of a smarter way to decompress—then maybe you wouldn't have been in such a delicate situation right now.

Before Scaramouche even had the chance to send something back and the faint ping of your phone was heard—you were already standing infront of the door, knocking impatiently as your eyes narrowed and hands turned sore by the numerous knocking.

After 5 minutes—or what seemed to be an eternity for you, the door finally opened. Presenting an indigo haired guy with lilac eyes staring at you with confusion.

"[Name]? Whatchu doing here?"

You had no patience to answer his question, nor did you care because he should've checked the message you sent him. You hurriedly pushed him inside before closing the door behind you and pulling him in.

"Can't," you murmured, head resting against his chest. "Fuck, I can't wait."

Grabbing his hand, you wasted no time rushing to his room. "Wait that's—"

"Will you shut up? You're not this talkative normally." You groaned, pushing him in the red themed bedroom. Scara's room.

You didn't bother looking at his face, his flushed cheeks showing on his pale face, eyes shaking as he tried not to stare at your undressing form—nor did you care to notice, getting these annoying clothes off your body was taking enough of your attention already. That's his job, fuck is his problem t'day.

"Wait [Name], what're you doi—you okay with this?"

"Why are you like this, we've been doing this shit for over 3 years already. DAMN IT! Just help me!" You yelled, frustration evident on your face as your fuck buddy did not even move.

"W-what are you talking about?!" He yelled back, eyes finally meeting yours—has he gone crazy? Are his eyes deceiving him? Or are his fantasies finally happening? Too much question that the woman infront of him couldn't answer. "Fuck...It must be a dream or something."

"Whatever you're talking about..." you cut yourself off, throwing him on the bed as you straddled him. "Just fuck me damnit!"

A chorus of moans and groan could be heard from outside the room, filthy words making the pair blush a furious red and dirty promises that normally do not come from Scaramouche were whispered. All up until you started moaning his name. Like he normally liked you to.

"Are...you alright...fuck."

"Haa...s-scara!"

"What?" Why the fuck did he just stop?

"Now not the fucking time to be pissy about nicknames Scara!" You chuckled, turning to look at him, expecting to see a scowly face or a smirk—but you just see...anger? Sadness?

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He said, stepping back from your laid out body. "Are you serious?"

Was his voice always like that? He sounds so different.

"Scara are you alright?" You sat up, hands held out toward his cheeks before roughly being yanked away. "What's up your ass t'day? All that because I didn't call you by your horny ass nicknames? I do not—"

Ping

Who the fuck is bothering you at this time now.

Hah?

"You've been fucking my brother all this time?" It broke your heart, the way his lips shook as he spat the words out, the way his eyes started tearing up, but not as much as his face. Someone who's been played with this whole time, someone who was never as close to you as he thought, someone...who got his crush stolen by none other than his twin.

"What was I then? [Name] what the fuck was I?"

"No wanwan, I—"

"3 whole years."

"Shit, I'm sorry I should've told you!"

"Yes! You should've! It would have saved us from whatever this is!" He shouted, and honestly you didn't blame him.

After that, none of you uttered a word. You felt guilty, and Wanderer felt betrayal. "I'll miss it."

"What?"

"I'll miss the time I didn't have to worry about my position in your life, [Name]." He murmured before standing up and gathering his clothes.

"Why are you so worked up over me and your brother?!"

"Because I loved you! Okay?" He barked. "All this time I helped you at the Academia! All the time I comforted you! It's because I had feelings for you!"

"Wanderer..."

The door of now what you realized wasn't Wanderer's room opened. A panting Scaramouche appearing in the doorway. "Damnit you two!"

His eyes examined the room, your clothes still on the floor, his now on him, slick and sweat evident on both your faces and on the sheets. "Fuck."

"Tch." His twin scowled. "Whatever, keep her here, don't fucking talk to me," he walked to the door before turning his face back. "Both of you."

He was on the way to close the door before a hand grabbed him. "Don't do this Wan."

"She loves you."

"Fuck are you talking about?!" Wanderer confused self turned back in the room.

"She always kept whining about you," he paused. "Always with 'Wanwan went with that girl t'day' or 'he doesn't pay attention to me' hell, she always hated your friend, what the fuck was her name...haypa something"

He just yanked Scara's hand away. "Telling me this when she moaned your name in your bed for 3 whole yea—"

"He's right!" You finally spoke. "You're also right."

"I always had problems," you paused, hugging your knees close to your chest. "Wanderer has always been kind to me and you two basically took care of me since we were young." You said. "I ended up liking the two of you."

"What?"

"What????"

"I didn't know what to do okay?" You nervously whispered.

You guys are now sat in the living room, a room that has the smell of sexual intercourse was not the ideal place to talk about this after all.

"I decided this whole thing with Scara because I hated seeing him doing this with other girls." You blushed. "And the little affectionate actions I did with Wanderer was to get that broccoli haired girl away from him."

"So you were jealous."

"Broccoli hair..." Scara laughing, his can of soda almost slipping out of his hands.

"I was just an idiot who was too scared to confess."

"Dumbass, all this could have been avoided if you knew how to use your mouth."

"Saying this after everything we did is kind of mean no?"

"STOP talking about you guys when I'm here." Wandere groaned, his hands putting the can away as he blushed a deep red.

"Lil boy is shy~"

"Cute." You whispered. "Listen...I'm sorry Wanderer."

"It's fine, I guess..." he looked away from you, the duo behind him chuckling at his behavior. "Don't get mad when we start acting possessive of you back idiot."

"Pinky promise that I won't!"

You all smiled, glad that the tension in the air went away. "Now,"

"Since your time has been interrupted by someone moaning my name like a whore,"he smirked. "How about we make you moan Wan's name now?"

"No objection brother?"

"Nah"

You gulped. "Fuckkk."

© zhuuszhuu ─ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. [Do not copy, translate, plagiarise, repost or feed my work into AI.]

[bedrottingdoll]

bro stop😭 i lit js imagined scara n yn on love island

this is all i imagine when im watching love island tbh... ...and i wanna yap ab my love island headcanon's with scara and yn

Scaramouche Love Island: Headcanons ⋆ ༅˚🥥.࿓•

Pairing: Scaramouche x Fem!Reader ꒰ MODERN AU ꒱ fluff/sfw

Word Count . 1.8k

LINKS ₊˚⊹♡ ˚✎𓂃 masterlist | ao3 | kofi | taglist | discord server

The Coupling...

❀ If you're both OG's and came into the villa on episode one, he'd be in a couple with you on d1, and he'd never look at any other woman after that

❀ When the other boys talk about "keeping their options open" and "exploring connections," he looks at them like they're crazy (he definitely thinks the 'exploring' thing just sounds like an excuse to cheat, and he'd never do that)

❀ In his confessionals, at least in every other episode, he's going to yap about the fact that the other men in the villa are "embarrassing the concept of masculinity on a global scale" and that if one more guy says "im just being honest with myself" after kissing someone else's partner, he's going to "be honest with his fist."

Bombshell situation...

❀ He'd ignore her, even if she specifically wanted him and tried to pursue him the minute after she arrived

❀ If she tried again, he'd tell her that he's taken and that he's already in a relationship

❀ It would be comedic in a way if the girl told the camera in the confessionals that she's 'never been rejected before', and he made a similar one right after saying 'he's never been so annoyed by someone so aggressively before.'

❀ Also, his ahh would have the MOST confessionals like let's be frfr ong...

Surprise surprise!! America's shady asf and couples him up with the bombshell

❀ The recoupling happens, and America votes to couple him up with the bombshell to "test the connection." The second her name is read out next to his, his face goes so flat, everyone sitting on the couch is in shock, even Ariana herself.

╰┈┈┈➤ He doesn't say a word to her when you have to scoot over for her to sit next to him. If anything, he's shady enough to scoot over himself, and thankfully, Childe (who scara is best buddies with...) is right next to Scara, and Scara presses up against him in disgust of the bombshell not taking a hint.

❀ You're either single and sleeping alone, or you've been coupled up with some random guy who's way too excited about finally talking to you after scara practically claimed you from day one and shooed away any boy who tried talking to you.

❀ The first night, he has to sleep in bed with the bombshell, but as everyone's getting ready to sleep or is still showering, he goes over to your bed first.

┊ He sits on the edge of your bed, one leg tucked up, facing you. he doesn't say anything dramatic; he just sits there and talks to you like nothing changed. about dinner, about the challenge earlier, just basic conversation,

┊ He kisses you before the lights go out, soft, deliberate, his hand on the side of your face. In front of the bombshell (if there's one on your bed), especially in front of the bombshell he's forced to sleep with across the room.

┊ He doesn't acknowledge that the kiss is a statement because, to him, it isn't. It's just a routine he does before bed

╰┈┈┈➤ Then he tells you goodnight, and he gets up, walks over to the bombshell's bed, lies down at the very far edge with his back to her, and falls asleep within 3 minutes. He doesn't even say goodnight to her; he just treats her like a wall.

❀ The next morning, the bombshell tells the girls in the glam room that sleeping next to him was "like sleeping next to a corpse that hates you." She says it while you're in the room, and you don't say anything, you just grin at the thought that America was wrong and that they can never break your connection.

╰┈┈┈➤ He also brings you breakfast that morning, not the bombshell, and he kisses you after he sets the plate down. Giving the bombshell a nasty side-eye before leaving the room.

❀ His ranting confessionals about this would be so long that they can be their own episode... The producers have to cut out most of what he says and save some juicy parts for Aftersun.

❀ On the second night, he's done. Completely over it. He grabs your hand and a blanket and walks you both to the Soul Ties area, the big couch bed in the villa where couples go to "deepen their connection."

┊ You both sleep there because he's not spending another night next to a woman he doesn't know, while his girlfriend sleeps across the room next to some guy who keeps trying to spoon her

╰┈┈┈➤ He tells the confessional camera the next morning: "I don't care what America voted for. America also voted for... disgusting... things I won't say on camera. I sleep next to my girlfriend, end of story."

The Bed Situation (When You're Both Coupled Up)

❀ He's a light sleeper in the villa, and the communal bedroom doesn't make it any better.

┊Someone's always whispering, shuffling, doing something under the covers that he can hear and doesn't want to hear.

┊He has made passive-aggressive comments to at least two couples about the volume of their nighttime activities.

╰┈┈┈➤ "If I can hear your knee crack from six beds away, you need to rethink your angle."

❀ He sleeps with an arm over your waist every night. Every. Night.

┊He also pulls the covers off you in his sleep because he runs cold, and every morning you wake up with zero blanket and him fully cocooned.

╰┈┈┈➤ He denies this.

Drama and Gossip

❀ He is, without question, the most dramatic person in the villa while simultaneously insisting he "doesn't do drama."

❀ He doesn't start it, but he absolutely fuels it.

┊He'll sit at the kitchen counter, eating cereal, listening to two people argue, and drop one sentence that makes everything 10 times worse.

╰┈┈┈➤ Then he'll leave and tell the confessional camera he "doesn't know why everyone's so emotional."

❀ He gossips exclusively with you and Childe.

┊The three of you on the daybed, whispering, is the most consistent recurring shot in the season.

╰┈┈┈➤ Fans call it "the council" because every major villa decision somehow traces back to one of those daybed conversations.

❀ He ranks everyone in the villa by how much they annoy him, and the ranking updates daily. He tells you the rankings every night before bed like it's a bedtime story.

❀ When someone comes to him for advice, he gives the most brutally honest answer possible and then gets confused when they're upset.

╰┈┈┈➤ "You asked me what I thought. I told you what I thought. Why are you crying? Do you want me to lie? I can lie, but I won't, because I respect you enough to tell you that your partner is actively flirting with someone else, and your response to it is pathetic."

❀ He has made at least one person cry during a villa discussion. Not intentionally. He was just being honest, and their emotional threshold was lower than he anticipated.

❀ He actually loves the drama. He'd never admit it, but the way he leans forward when an argument starts, the way he pulls you closer to whisper commentary in your ear while two people scream at each other by the pool. He's invested. He just performs disinterest because caring would be out of character.

Childe Bro-ship

❀ If Childe is in the villa, they become inseparable within 48 hours. Scara doesn't admit it's because they like each other; he only says that "he's the only one here with a functional brain stem."

❀ Their dynamic in the villa is the same as everywhere else.

╰┈┈┈➤ Childe is loud and charming and befriends everyone, Scara tolerates him specifically, and no one else, and the two of them working out together in the villa gym has become a fan-favorite recurring segment.

❀ Childe spots him on the bench press and makes jokes the entire time. Scara threatens to kill him between sets but doesn't switch gym partners.

❀ They have a bit where Childe tries to get Scara to join the boys' group chats and bro activities (pool volleyball, cooking competitions, the post-recoupling debrief), and Scara refuses every time but always ends up nearby, listening, pretending he's on the phone they gave each islander.

❀ Childe tells the confessional camera, "Scara is my best friend in this villa, and he would stab me if he heard me say that. But he'd visit me in the hospital, and that's how I know he cares."

Breakfast

❀ He makes you breakfast every single morning. This is non-negotiable. The kitchen is his territory from 7:30 to 8:15 AM, and anyone who interrupts his process gets a look that could curdle milk.

❀ Heart-shaped eggs every morning, heart-shaped pancakes when he's in a good mood. Regular pancakes when he's in a neutral mood. No pancakes when he's annoyed.

╰┈┈┈➤ The shape of your breakfast is how the entire villa, and fans, gauge his emotional state for the day.

❀ If any other islander tries to eat the food he made for you (you trying to kindly share with any of your friends), he will actually lose it. "That's her plate. That plate has her name on it. Metaphorically. But the metaphor is binding."

❀ One time, Childe ate one of your eggs as a joke, and Scara didn't speak to him for six hours.

Challenges

❀ He refuses to kiss anyone but you in challenges. Point blank.

╰┈┈┈➤ The challenge says "kiss the islander you find most attractive" and he walks across the entire line of people, past every bombshell, past every single person, and kisses you. Every time. Without hesitation.

❀ When a challenge requires him to kiss someone else, he gives whoever it is the most dead, lifeless, closed-mouth peck that has ever been broadcast on national television. It's so devoid of effort that the editors have to add a sound effect to confirm that lip contact was made.

❀ The contrast between how he kisses other people in challenges (dead, lifeless, clearly suffering) and how he kisses you (full, deliberate, his hand on your face, the kind of kiss that makes the entire villa go "OOOH") is a meme on TikTok that already has thousands of parodies.

The Confessional Camera

❀ His confessionals are the most-watched segments of the season.

❀ He delivers the most devastating one-liners with the flattest expression possible, and the editors don't even have to add music because the silence after his sentences does all the work.

┊"I've been here for three weeks, and I've seen more emotional breakdowns than a therapist sees in a year. These people need medication, not a TV show."

┊"She asked me if I'm open to getting to know her. I said no, and she had the audacity to ask me why. I told her that I already know someone, and knowing two people sounds exhausting."

┊"The boys had a meeting about 'loyalty' today. I didn't attend because I don't need a group discussion to remind me not to cheat on my girlfriend. That's called being a normal person."

╰┈┈┈➤ "America, if you're watching, stop coupling me with people I don't know. I will not perform for you. I will sleep on the couch. Try me."

❀ When asked by producers to describe his feelings for you, he stares at the camera for four seconds and says, "Next question." But the look on his face during those four seconds tells the audience everything they need to know.

I have a Discord now! 18+, for readers, writers, and anyone who wants early wips and a place to chat!! (link)

@vvalentiqq, @jellyfishesandroses, @staarflowerr, @literallyibanny, @justwandererforever, @hanakokunzz, @bvlletwound, @prettysweetprincess, @maomaoyuki, @xaeevie, @pwushizz, @txyyyyyyyyyssssssss, @livvysoxytocin, @ventiij, @ruoussss, @kunimooch, @morangosdocesdsuki, @yumi-rxiden, @heavyonsloth

[bedrottingdoll]

꒰ .⋆♱How To Keep α Airl Alive Long Enough to Ruin Her ⋆˚꩜｡꒱

𝓢ynopsis . Identical Twins!Scaramouche & Kunikuzushi/Fem!Reader ꒰ 𝑀ODERN 𝒜U ꒱

Summary . Your life is as ‘normal’ as it can be, with a dad like Dottore and identical-twin neighbors you’ve known since childhood. Scaramouche and Kunikuzushi. One evil and one you don’t have words for. Scara is the loud, extroverted twin, but also the school’s biggest bully, and yet he still has a big platform on TikTok. Girls at school fawn over him, saying they can fix him, and he always finds a way to shut them up permanently. He’s your boyfriend, and a loyal one. Kuni is the opposite of Scara: the school’s golden boy with perfect grades, a perfect smile, future valedictorian, and the most popular boy in school. Everyone calls him the good twin, the better twin. Nobody notices how Kuni's worse than Scara.

Warnings (cw) .ᐟ 18+, Dead dove: Do Not Eat, Yandere, Psychological Horror, Torture, Gore, Medical Experimentation, Human Experimentation, Suicide attempt, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Body horror, Mutilation, Forced mutilation, It gets worse, Smut

status . hiatus for 2 months/more until I can get some of my oneshot requests done

LINKS ₊˚⊹♡ ˚✎𓂃 masterlist | ao3 | kofi | taglist | discord server

──────── Navigation...

001 : Scaramouche and Kunikuzushi 002 : brain rot

003 : relax 004 : Talia's blood.

005 : Ei.

© 2026 bedrottingdoll/rottingdolljoints, all rights reserved. you may not copy my work, reproduce or translate to any platform, or feed to any AI platform/create them into bots.

creds to 01rinette on insta/twt for the art in the header

[kinichiwa]

red means I love you ft. LOHEN

synopsis: every attempt to leave is a reason for you to stay; or: unable to bear the thought of losing you, Lohen decides to offer the promise of his vitality for your everlasting “love.”

before you read: lohen x gn!reader, cw: yandere & suicidal themes, manipulation & guilt-tripping, mentions of guns, mentions of blood but not gorey, overall unhealthy depiction of relationships. **note: I don't think lohen would actually do something like this, but i just couldn’t resist after seeing him put a gun to his head in his trailer…

wc: 1.1k

thank u to @akamigi for the idea <3

“I don’t think this is going to work, Lohen.”

You can barely look at the man in your living room. The last time you had ever felt this apprehensive about something, it had been five minutes before your practical examination with the Knights of Favonius. Back then, your throat had felt dry, indicative of your nervous yet nonetheless hopeful anticipation.

This time, you taste bile, and its acidity makes you grimace with the same disgust flooding through your chest.

Lohen doesn’t look up when you approach him, lounging ever so casually on the couch as he scrapes dried blood from his spear. You frown at the way the flakes settle into your white carpet; it all serves to remind you of the innumerable deaths caused by his hands. 

His collection of other weapons — his signature dagger, a mini crossbow, a musket you never knew he used, and a silver revolver — are still settled by his thigh. It’s a lot of weapons that he has. The thought that Lohen intentionally swaps between them to kill most efficiently makes you grimace again.

“Mhm, what’s not workin’ out?” 

Lohen’s reply comes easily. It carries an easygoing amusement that makes your heart constrict in guilt. But you know you cannot afford to be soft with him anymore — there’s a sense of resolution in your chest about the fact that you’re going to leave him tonight.

“Lohen.”

His name comes out sharper this time, and the vice captain finally turns to look at you. He raises a confused eyebrow, shrugging at your sudden firm tone.

“I don’t think our relationship is going to work out anymore,” you muster out, trying to sound more resolute about the decision. Even so, there’s a hint of shakiness in your tone, and you know for sure that your boyfriend can sense your ambivalence.

Lohen gives you a delayed, lopsided grin, fingers pausing at the tip of his spear. You can tell he’s not quite sure if you’re messing around with him or not.

“Heh, you’re funny! Did Varka put ya up to this so he can get back at me? Tell the old man to try harder.”

Silence fills the room, and you wince at his disbelieving words. That’s when Lohen realizes that you are, in fact, not messing around with him for the sake of Varka.

That you really, truly, want to leave him.

“Look,” you sigh, working up the courage to explain your feelings. “I know Jean and Varka make these executive decisions, and I know you’re perfect for these kinds of tasks, but I can’t help but feel weird when you’re mercilessly killing every soul you see during your missions. It’s one thing to fulfill the Grand Master’s requirements, but it’s another to flaunt the genuine joy you felt when you murdered every single guard at that underground auction.”

You’re rambling now, trying to force all the words out before you must witness the disappointment that you’re sure is plastered on Lohen’s face.

“Don’t you see we’re not the right fit for each other? We have vastly different goals within the knights, and it seems to me that your only goal is to obsessively seek more power–”

You cut yourself off, unnerved by the lack of reaction from Lohen. When you dare to look at him, there’s a blank, frozen expression on his face. You don’t like how you’re unable to read him. You don’t like how his usual easygoing smirk has vanished, replaced by a clenched jaw.

Most of all, you don’t like how his crimson eyes are flat and dead.

When you were younger, you loved reading in Favonius Library. The romance novels you often indulged in would always describe a character’s anger or disappointment with things like “a shadow fell across his face,” or “her expression darkened.” In the past, you had laughed at the absurdity — how cliché and inaccurate! However, right now you think those sentences perfectly describe the terrifying expression on Lohen’s face.

You curse, suddenly feeling an immense, suffocating guilt wash over you. He hasn’t moved an inch or said a word, yet that blank expression on its own wrenches an apology from your heart.

“Fuck. Lohen, I’m sorry.”

He tilts his head back slightly, looking down at you through his lashes. The way his bangs fall across his forehead messily makes him look younger, yet also a little more unhinged.

“Hah…you want to leave me?”

Lohen’s voice comes out shaky and brittle — strained, so unlike the effortless manner in which he usually addresses you. It feels as if he might cry, yet not a single tear streams down his face. You think it’s a result of the numbness he’s used to feeling.

Lohen pushes himself off the couch, grabbing the revolver he still hadn’t cleaned. It’s a rusty red from his previous victims at that underground auction; now, you think it’s about to be painted with your blood, too.

He doesn’t point the gun at your head.

Instead, Lohen presses the cold barrel firmly against his temple, eyes wide and manic. He’s smiling so unnaturally that it petrifies you into staying frozen on that bloody carpet you previously couldn’t stand.

“No.”

“No, no, no. You can’t. Please don’t. Please don’t leave me.”

Desperation seeps through his words as he steps closer and closer to you, fingers shaking around the handle of the revolver. 

“I’ll kill myself if you leave me. I’ll blow my brains out right here. I will, I really will.”

Lohen tilts his head against the gun, pressing the barrel even deeper into his temple. The cold metal bites into his pale skin, but he doesn’t care.

“Hate me with all your heart. Curse my name. Despise the very air I breathe. I don’t care. But please, just do it while you stay by my side.”

Dread seeps into your skin as his finger tightens against the trigger. His words are coming out fast and uneven, and you barely have time to process what he’s doing. His eyes are bloodshot, and the utter desperation in his words makes your heart drop cold.

You’re too scared to leave him.

Lohen knows that this is manipulation, but he doesn’t care.

If he cannot have your pure, unadulterated love, then Lohen will settle for your devotion born of necessity. He will take your guilt, your pity, and your obligation, and he will weave them into a rope that keeps you bound to him forever.

[yvaive]

Just eatin' your flesh

(Ronin Beaufort x GN mentally ill Reader)

Warnings

☠︎︎ Self-harm & Heavy writing

⋆₊ Psychological manipulation, word “cunt” mentioned

Disorders represented

✃ Eating disorder, Depression, Bipolar, Self-Harm, Panic Attacks / Hyperventilation, Catatonia, and Suicidal Ideation.

♱ Based on personal experience. Please do not repeat or romanticize.

𓆨 Not proofread.

Ronin Beaufort here is a total asshole and might act out of character

• Please correct me if I made any mistakes. Thank you.

You think you are alone in the world you built to feel something that rhymes with “safe”… until he is there, dragging every bite, every breath, every ugly thought. He calls it care. You call it necessary. Quite ironic, isn’t it?

Do you really want to breathe… for a while?

To make your body move for something, even as your heart aches for nothing?

The voice in your head didn't scream, it uttered with a slow, heavy warmth flow. It whispered exactly what you already knew: you were a clown, a joke. A waste of breath just using your skin to hide whatever was eating you from the inside out. The thought of death didn't even scare you anymore—it just felt like a warm embrace, making you feel more alive than you had in years, even your skin and flesh are crawling out of you, how funny, but—

YOU DON'T HAVE TO PRAY FOR EVERYONE BECAUSE THEY ARE OUT OF YOUR SIGHT.

The air in the apartment was thick, tasting of cheap tobacco, and the sickening scent of the bleach Ronin used to keep the place looking like a clean room, as if the bloodshed didn't happen here.

He was slumped in the armchair, a glass of dark amber liquid cradled in his lap, watching you. His eyes were heavy, his annoying voice dragging through the silence like a blade over lovely soft skin.

"You look like a fuckin’ skeleton, darlin," he slurred into the back of his throat. "I’ve seen more meat on a stray dog. It’s gettin’ tiresome, really, watchin’ you melt into the floorboards just to see if I’ll notice."

You didn’t look up from your lap. The hunger was nothing, pounds heavily ache under your thin intestines, but the thought of swallowing anything felt like ingesting a shattered shard deep in your throat, enough to cut and vomit. "I'm not doing it for you, Ro."

"Aren't ya?" He stood up, his movements fluid, but slightly unsteady from the scotch. The suffocating, cheap stench of the whiskey hit you, always making your empty stomach turn before he even moved, making your throat tighten. He walked to the kitchen, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He pulled a chair out, the screech of wood on tile ringing like a scream.

"C'mere... Now."

When you didn't move, he was suddenly behind you. His hand, rough, scarred, and warm, clenched the back of your neck. It wasn't a caress—it was a rough guide heavy on your nape, as if he were steering a piece of shit dog.

His steps went to your dying body, to the table, and forced you down. On the plate was a piece of toast, heavily buttered, glistening under the harsh lights.

"Eat," he commanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous hum.

"I can't."

He sighed, a sound of deep, worn-out disappointment. Then, his demeanor shifted. He took a breath, trying to smooth the spiked edges of his temper.

He sat across from you and picked up a piece of the bread. His hands, usually so heavy when he was correcting people, looked clumsy as he tried to bring it to your chapped lips.

"Lo’k at me, darlin'. Look. At me." he murmured, his voice forced into a terrifyingly unnatural softness that doesn't suit him with every scar on his body.

It was the sound of a devil trying to mimic a lullaby.

"I’m tryin’ to be patient, love. Truly. Open up. Just a bit. Do it for your Devil, yeah?"

The gentleness was disgustingly worse than the mockery you heard in your head. It felt like being hunted by something that was smiling at you. When you clench your jaw shut, his eyes flashed, a spark of the devil behind the mask in his deep, rotten soul. He pressed the bread against your cracked lips, smearing grease on your skin.

"Don't be a difficult cunt," he snapped, the softness dying instantly. "I’m sittin’ here playin’ nursemaid because I don't want to bury you yet. Eat the fuckin’ bread."

You pushed his hand away, the toast hitting the floor with a wet thud. That was the blow to his patience.

He lunged forward, his fingers clamping hard around your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he leaned his weight into you. "I'm trying to fucking keep you alive!"

You clawed at his wrists with your fragile fingers, your voice choking out past his grip. "I don't feel like it! Why the fuck are you forcing me?!"

He didn't let go—instead, he shook you once, rough enough to rattle your teeth, his slurred voice vibrating violently right against your face. "Because you’re forcing yourself to fucking starve, so why the fuck wouldn't I be?!"

"You don't fucking get me! You fucking asshole!" You tried to shove him off, but of course your baby bones couldn't handle his fucking weight. He didn't even budge. Pathetic. He just pinned you down harder under the massive shadow of his frame, trapping your useless hands against your chest.

You were furious, and the worst part? You couldn't even cry. You didn't know why, but the anger was better than the heavy shit feeding into a chest that ached for absolutely nothing. Hate was better. Pain was better. You would rather feel angry than empty, because it is easy to understand.

You started hitting him, fists blindly throwing themselves against his chest, screaming like a wild bitch into his face. He moved instantly to restrain you, his heavy limbs trapping yours, holding you down hard enough to bruise.

Your heart hammered against your ribs—too fast, a frantic, too much as your brain short-circuited, desperately forcing itself to find through every possible way to break free of his suffocating grip.

The argument was a blur of crashing porcelain and Ronin’s voice rising into a jagged, slurred roar. Every word chopped short in a disgusting rhythm that spats out like a blade traveling deep until it reaches your aorta. He called you ungrateful, a "hollow little doll," a "waste of his fuckin' time."

He towered over you, his shadow concealing the light that reflected on your skinny cheeks, his hands, dirty and bare, beating with a dark, masculine bloodlust that threatened to drop the very identity he had carved himself out of the dirt.

He had ripped himself out of nothing, and he couldn't understand why you were trying to crawl back into the rotting bones.

You broke. You ran. The bathroom door slammed—a sharp crack cutting through his annoying, slurred rambling. The lock clicked home. It was a laughable, tiny, pathetic sound, but in the silence of the bathroom, white-tiles it echoed like a hammer.

Inside, the silence was deafening, a heavy pressure pressing down until your bones ached to snap. Your skull sat low and heavy in your beautifully decaying body. Your paper-thin lungs were crushing the air out of you.

The only way to swallow the anger and panic was the cold, mesmerizing metal in the drawer. You loved the quick, sharp sting that forced your vision to stop spinning, even as it made a beautiful mess of your sleeves.

Ronin didn't pound on the door. He didn't scream. He waited. He knew the silence meant you were working. He went to his room to find his toolbox, grabbed it, and headed back to the door.

When Ronin finally used a screwdriver to pop the lock, the room smelled like copper and the usual metallic shit.

You were slumped against the tub, blood soaking your wrists in a wet, heavy dim flickering light, your breath coming in ragged, wretched hitches.

Ronin stood in the doorway, his shirt unbuttoned, his own fucked-up surgical scars even he never got it from an actual hospital. The faint lines across his chest where he’d shed his past, bare in the light.

He didn't look disgusted. He looked satisfied, in a dark, twisted way. "There she is," he whispered, his American accent thick, slurred with a grim sort of pride. "The real you. No more hidin' behind the moods and the starvin'. Just the blood."

He walked over and didn't take the blade. He just watched you finish the last shallow swipe. Only when you dropped it did he move. He sat on the closed toilet, pulling your arm onto his lap.

He reached for the drawers next to the toilet and grabbed the first aid kit that was already in the room. "You think this scares me?" he asked, his voice low and raspy as he pressed a cold, antiseptic-soaked cloth to your bleeding arm.

You hissed in pain, and he leaned in, his breath smelling of peat and smoke. "I’ve cut more out of myself than you’ll ever manage to bleed, sweetheart. This is just... art."

​He began to wrap the bandages, his movements efficient, almost clinical, as if he had done this before to himself. He didn't offer a sorry. He didn't tell you it would be okay. He just handled your ruined skin like it was his favorite doll.

Later, the lights were low. You were tucked into his bed, the weight of the episode leaving you hollow and shivering. Ronin climbed in behind you, his large, solid body a loud fire you didn't deserve. He pulled you against his chest, his chin resting on the twisted part of your head.

"Ronin?" you whispered, your voice quiet and weak.

"I'm such a mess. Why do you even bother? Why do you love me when I'm fucked up like this?"

He let out a dark, gravelly huff of a laugh. His hand, heavy and possessive, slid over your stomach, his thumb tracing the hipbone that poked out too sharply.

"Because perfection is f'r losers, darlin'," he murmured, his slurred voice vibrating through your spine.

"I didn't ruin myself t'be a saint. I’m a devil, luv. An' devils don't want angels... They want somethin' they can recognize."

He nipped at your earlobe, a sharp, stinging little signal that he was there, that he was real, and that he was in control.

"I love it... how you're always lookin' for a soft spot. Like a blade, darlin’. Tryin' to see if ya can finally slit me open." he whispered, his eyes closing as he inhaled the scent of your hair and the faint metallic tang of the bandages.

"So go ahead...rip it out. Break down. Rot. I'll be the one holdin' ya still while you're decayin'. You’re mine, darlin'. Even the parts of you that are shuttin' apart."

He let out a breath that reeked of peat and old mistakes. "It doesn't matter." He grunted, the words convulsing against your ear. He grasped you just a little too tight, the pressure almost bruising, making sure you knew you weren't going anywhere.

"Now sleep," he grunted. "We’ll try the eggs in the mornin'. An' if you fight me... I’ll just find a dozen more ways to make you swallow 'em. I’ll feed ya like da rreck ya are... s’gonna be messy, ‘n you’ll p’obably hate me for it—bu’ you’ll still be breathin’ ta complain t’morrow."

​The days that followed were a blur of cold sunlight and the annoying smell of recovery. Ronin didn’t change into a saint overnight—he simply adjusted his way. He became the God of your survival, handling your ruin with the same disgusting, filthy hands he used to fix his own shit.

In the mornings, he’d sit at the edge of the bed, his bare chest revealing the flat, scarred, light marks along his ribcage, a fixed reminder that he was a man who had survived the death of his old self. He’d hold a small bowl of something soft, something easy to swallow, and he’d wait.

"S’good, darlin’," he’d murmur, his voice thick with sleep and scotch, the slurred British lilt dragging over the words. "Look at that. Actually swallowin’ it. There’s my flesh. You’re doin’ so well for me, in’t ya?" The praise felt like a drug. It wasn't warm, but it was heavy. It was the reward for a well-behaved property.

When you finished, he’d lean in and press a bruising kiss to your forehead, his thumb tracing the hollow of your throat. He didn't tell you that you looked healthy, because obviously you were not there yet, he told you that you looked his. Then came the usual of the bandages. He didn’t hide them. He didn’t lock the medicine cabinet like a panicked parent.

Instead, he sat you down on the vanity and laid out fresh, sterile rolls of gauze and medical tape like they were jewelry. "Keep 'em clean, sweetheart," he’d say, his eyes hooded and remorseless as he watched you touch the white cotton.

"f you’re goin’ to carve into what’s mine, at least have the guts not to let it rot. I like the scars, but I don' 'fuck a fever."

He handled your fucked episodes like he was holding the leash of a storm at sea. ​When the wave hit, when your heart was frantic and begging to erupt, your tongue moving so fast your chest couldn't keep up, he didn’t try to douse the fire in you. He simply stood in the center of the mess with you.

He’d let you scream, let you break things, his arms wrapped around you from behind like a straightjacket made of muscle and scarred skin.

"Go on, en'." he’d whisper into your ear while you thrashed. "Explode. I’m right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Blow us both to hell, darlin’, I’m already under."

And when the crash came, when your mind finally exploded and left you a shivering, weeping mess on the floor, unable to even lift your head, he was there to pick up the fragile pieces.

He’d carry you to the bath, his large hands washing you with a terrifying, silent patience. He didn't tell you to get over it.

He didn't ask when you’d be "normal."

He just sat in the dark with you, his presence a suffocating, grounding weight. Weeks of this, the highs, the lows, the starving, the feeding, and the world outside the apartment began to feel like a distant, faded dream.

There was only Ronin.

The devil who knew exactly how much pressure to apply to keep you from shattering. One night, the emptiness was particularly thick, a suffocating dark coffin.

You were curled against his side, your head on his chest, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart.

Your arm, freshly wrapped in the bandages he’d handed you earlier, felt heavy.

"Ronin?" you whispered into the silence.

"Mmh?"

"You're making me want to breathe more... in this hell," you said, your voice cracking.

It was a terrifying realization that his kind of twisted, sick, and confusing warmth was becoming the only thing keeping your heart beating against your ribcage as it beat slowly and violently.

It was masochistic, completely ruined, but it felt better than any soft stuff like therapy or some healthy coping mechanism. You didn't need someone to help you or fix you just to feel like you existed.

You didn't need help to be seen—you needed to be understood to be seen. And under his dark, annoying gaze, he understood you better than anyone else ever could.

"I'm staying alive just to stay in this nightmare with you."

Ronin shifted, his arm tightening around your waist, pulling you so close you could feel the heat of him through your clothes.

He let out a low, gravelly huff, a dark trace of a laugh.

"That's the point, sweetheart," he slurred, his lips grazing your temple.

His voice was a dark, possessive silk.

"You’ve got me all wrong, darlin'. Never the saint. I never wanted to save ya. I just wanna drag you into my hell... keep you right here in the dark where no one else can see how beautifully mucked up you are."

He tilted your chin up, his eyes black and utterly devoid of regret.

"I love the mess. I love the decay. And I’m never lettin’ go of it."

He kissed you then, a deep, desperate, and slightly sadistic kiss that tasted of iron and tobacco. It was the kiss of a man who had claimed a ruin and intended to live in it forever.

As sleep finally began to pull at you, his last words drifted through the haze—a final, throbbing comfort.

You didn’t expect to find beauty in it. But you did.

"Sleep now, darlin'. We’ll see what you manage to ruin t'morrow."

​(note: the more I write, the more ideas keep coming😽😋😋)

[yli-is-not-near]

"I asked Chat GPT-" yeah well I asked the internet then got invited to a serial killer discord server, and now i have to pretend i murder people even though im a fucking writer

[starrrzy]

Imagine dying while getting married to ronin or having a killing spree after the wedding?

(Should i write a fic??)

[starrrzy]

I drew ronin at class while i was bored i did this in like 15-20min so its not that good since it’s rush also im not rlly professional at arts i have to admit that so plz don’t hate me😭 LOLLL

[starrrzy]

Get weezer’d

(Not my art/characters btw!! I only edited it:D)

[starrrzy]

Am I tripping or what i jst realized ronin has a korn led light omggg😭

[theheartsickdevil]

So.. the voices won and I finally finished it. I did it entirely in ibispaintx ahahahhaha

If Rosesrot is reading this, I hope you will like it. It's not the best but I really wanted to draw them and as soon as this album cover popped up in my mind I couldn't not draw them- I really really love your games and I hope you'll have a wonderful day/night ❤️❤️❤️

Anyways...- I think ima post the speedpaint on tiktok so yeah if you see it it's me :D

[starrrzy]

Omgg mcr + gluttony gods YESSSSSS

[woozywrites]

you and ronin playing Roblox tycoons but instead of him actually completing the tycoon he's fighting the other players with weapons you are collecting.

[starrrzy]

MADE A ZOEY PLAYLIST!! She is so cutesy and i love her sm<33 plz go save and listen to it>:) i also made a jinu playlist u can also check on that:))

[starrrzy]

Can anyone draw Ronin Beaufort doing this?? I feel like he would do this after a kill and show it to the server omggg if someone does draw plzzz tag me i would love to see it!! (also picture not mine<3)

[starrrzy]

didn’t know this bot knows ronin LOL

[starrrzy]

Bro istg i wanna see an edit of ronin with this song😭 only if i could edit i would’ve done it😔👊

[kindadeadish]

hes kinda jus like me fr but with an emphasis on emo loser