luv the way you write ethan <33 how about some fluff with him?? maybe cuddles?? please & thankyou ^_^
Iâm kind of obsessed w him rnâŠ
âââ ౚৠâč àŁȘ Ë
when you awake from your slumber two things appear to you at once: firstly, the sunlight peers through the crack of the curtains, only slightly but enough for you to notice without trying. secondly, a hand is twirling and twisting the edges of your hair.
ethan.
you whine sleepily and nuzzle your head slowly into his chest. his hand freezes upon realizing you had awoke from your slumber.
âdid I wake you up?â his voice sounds gentle, afraid of any higher itâll break you.
you shake your head. âwoke up on my own.â
âgood.â he pauses. âor bad? I know you like to sleep inâŠâ
ââs fine. youâre here.â
it goes ultimately silent in the cabin. but not the awkward kind, more so of a comfortable silence, the type you only hear during early mornings such as these, you savor this moment.
ethanâs hand travels from the very tips of your hair strands to twirl them fully around his fingers, letting them curl and bounce back into place. he does this relentlessly until youâre sure every piece of your hair has been twisted and untwisted.
you decide to speak after a while, âdid you sleep well?â
âon these pretty pink sheets? I slept like a baby.â
a smile paints your lips delicately. âI knew you loved my pink sheets.â
âmhm. speaking my truth here.â
you squeal quietly and lift your head from beneath his chin, quickly placing a dramatic kiss to his lips with a utmost dramatic mwah! before you have the chance to pull away, he chases your warmth and kisses you a second time before letting you settle back down on his chest.
you let your hands fiddle with the neckline of his shirt absentmindedly. the cabin returns to silence. but after minutes ethan enunciates,
âup.â he bags your back twice lightly to get you to slide off of him. âIâll make us coffee.â
Vinceâs ( Eviscerator1990 ) daughter, Skye, in all her angst, starts killing people. Eventually she meets Ronin ( Goreboy ) online, they become friends and Ronin invites her to the Slaughterhouse Losers chatroom, where she befriends most of the serials ( Everyone except V ( K9 ) ). Skye is shown to be a shameless killer, except when they start recognizing voices and namesâŠ..
Vinceâs ( Eviscerator1990 ) daughter, Skye, in all her angst, starts killing people. Eventually she meets Ronin ( Goreboy ) online, they become friends and Ronin invites her to the Slaughterhouse Losers chatroom, where she befriends most of the serials ( Everyone except V ( K9 ) ). Skye is shown to be a shameless killer, except when they start recognizing voices and namesâŠ..
The first time you saw Ronin's work, you didn't look away.
That was the thing. That was always the thing.
[ Slaughterhouse-Losers ]
goreboy: [image attached]
hitmeuppp: I DID NOT NEED TO SEE THAT WHILE EATING CEREAL -_-
goreboy: lighten up i dressed it up Special. added a little heart around the neck hole. for Valentines.
goreboy: [image attached]
Angelic: ANOTHER ONE???
goreboy: this one's for you Specifically angel. notice the Absence of eyes. figured you'd Relate <3
Angelic: I hate you <3
You'd stared at the second photo longer than you should have. Not out of horror (though there was plenty of that) but because you'd noticed something in the composition. The way the body was positioned. The deliberate staging. The dark, twisted artistry of it.
You: The lighting in the second one is interesting. How'd you get it like that?
The chat went quiet for exactly twelve seconds.
goreboy: ?
goreboy: you serious?
You: Yeah. Looks like you used a single overhead source. Creates that spotlight effect. Dramatic.
goreboy: oh
goreboy: OH
goreboy: well well Well
goreboy: looks like we have a fan
Angelic: PLEASE do not encourage him
goreboy: shush angel the adults are Talking
goreboy: and yeah. Single overhead. work light from a hardware store. $12.99. i'm a bargain Butcher
You: It works. The shadows are clean.
goreboy: i like you
That was the start.
---
Part Two:
He DM'ed you that same night.
goreboy: so you're not Scared of me
It wasn't a question the way he wrote it. More like a hypothesis he was testing.
You: Should I be?
goreboy: Most people are
goreboy: you asked about my Lighting
You: It was a good question.
goreboy: you're weird
You: Takes one to know one.
goreboy: HA
goreboy: ok
goreboy: guess i'm Not making you my 667th
You: Generous
goreboy: i Know
And then, almost as an afterthoughtâ
goreboy: what else do you notice
That question became a ritual. Every time he posted something newâand he posted oftenâhe'd DM you afterward.
goreboy: [image attached]
goreboy: what do you see
You: The angle's different this time. Lower. Almost like you're looking up at them.
goreboy: getting on my Knees for my art đ§ââïž
You: It changes the power dynamic. The subject looks monumental. Like a monument to itself.
He started texting you first. Not about the photosânot anymoreâbut about everything else. Music, movies, the idiot things the others on the server said, whether hot dogs counted as sandwiches (his stance: "they count as a CRIME") and whether ghosts were real.
---
[ Slaughterhouse-Losers ]
goreboy: [image attached] (slightly blurry photo of a convenience store at 3am)
Angelic: is this... a normal photo?
K9: I'm confused. Where's the gore?
goreboy: not everything i post is Gore you absolute Vultures
goreboy: sometimes i Just like the way Places look when the world's asleep
goreboy: the fluorescent Buzzing. the emptiness. the one tired guy behind the counter who's seen Too much to care about anything anymore
goreboy: it's romantic actually
Angelic: You and I have very different definitions of romantic
goreboy: obviously. mine are Correct
You smiled at your phone. Then decided to DM the asshole.
You: That photo was beautiful
goreboy: yeah?
You: Yeah. The glow on the wet pavement. The loneliness of it.
goreboy: god
goreboy: you always
goreboy: you always See it
You: See what?
goreboy: whatever i'm trying to show you
---
Part Four:
He called you at 2am. You picked up on the second ring.
"Couldn't sleep?" you asked.
"Didn't try." His voice was rougher than you expected. Lower. It scraped across the phone line like something with teeth. "Had a job tonight."
"Oh?"
"Mm. Didn't take photos."
"Why not?"
Silence. Then a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. "Didn't feel right. Withoutâ"
He stopped.
"Without what?"
"Without asking you about the lighting first." A pause. "Isn't that fucked up? I've been doing this for years and now I'm second-guessing my composition because some girl on the internet has good taste."
"I'm not some girl."
"No," he agreed, and his voice went soft in a way you'd never heard from him. Not in the chat. Not in the DMs. Not anywhere. "No, you're not."
"Roninâ"
"Don't say my name like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you mean it. I won'tâ I can'tâ" A sharp exhale. "I don't do this. I don't feel this. I'm the Butcher. I'm the demon in the dark. I don'tâ"
"Get scared?"
"I'm never scared."
"Liar."
The silence stretched so long you thought he'd hung up.
"Come over," he said finally.
"What?"
"Notâ I'm not going to do anything. I just... I need to see you. In person. I need to know if you're real."
---
Part Five:
He was exactly as dramatic as you'd imagined.
Black leather jacket with scissors punched through the shoulder. Safety pins catching the streetlight. The devil-horn beanie casting shadows across sharp cheekbones. Black lipstick slightly smudged, like he'd been biting his lips. Dark eyesâvoid-dark, just like they'd describedâstaring at you from the doorway of an apartment that smelled like incense and iron.
"You came," he said. Not surprised. Not relieved. More like a scientist confirming a theory.
"You asked."
He stepped aside. The apartment was exactly what you'd expect and somehow nothing like it. Candles everywhere. Band posters on every wall. A couch that looked like it had been rescued from three different dumpsters. And books, stacks upon stacks of books, spines cracked and worn.
You turned to face him. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with an expression you couldn't quite read. He looked like a cornered animal that had decided to bare its teeth for the time being, but its teeth were trembling.
"You're not afraid," he said. It was the same way he'd texted it that first night. A hypothesis.
"You keep saying that like you're waiting for it to change."
"It always changes."
"I'm not 'always.'"
He pushed off the doorframe and moved toward you. Not slowlyâRonin didn't do anything slowlyâbut deliberately, each step placed with intention. He stopped close enough that you could see the scars visible above his collar. Not random. Patterns. Words, maybe, if you looked long enough.
"Let me get this straight," he said, voice low. "You know what I am. You know what I do. You've seen the photos. You've heard me talk about it. You've looked at my lighting choices for my murder scenes." He tilted his head. "And you're standing in my apartment. At three in the morning. Alone."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you asked me to come."
"That's not a reason."
"It's enough of one."
He stared at you. Those black-hole eyes searching your face forâ what? Fear? Disgust? The thing that always came eventually?
He wasn't going to find it.
"Say something," he whispered.
"You have a poem scarred into your collarbone."
His hand came up instinctivelyânot to hide it, but to touch it. Like he'd forgotten it was visible. "It's Poe."
"'The desire of the moth for the star'?"
His breath caught. "Youâ How did youâ"
"It's one of my favorites."
He made a sound. Not a laughânot quite. Something rawer. Something that had been locked in his chest for a very long time and had just discovered the key.
"You're going to destroy me," he said. "You know that? Some girl with her Poe and her lighting critiques and her complete refusal to be afraid. You're going to take me apart like one of my own jobs."
"Maybe you want to be taken apart."
"Maybe Iâ" He stopped. Swallowed. His hand was still on his collar, over the scarred words, and you reached up and moved it away. He flinchedânot from fear, but from the tenderness of the gesture. Like physical gentleness was something his body didn't know how to process.
You traced the scarred letters with your fingertip. Light. Careful. Not because he was fragileâhe was anything butâbut because the words deserved it.
"'Of the night for the morrow,'" you read. "'The devotion to something afarâ'"
"'From the sphere of our sorrow,'" he finished, and his voice cracked on the last word like glass breaking.
He kissed you.
Not gently. Not softly. Ronin kissed the same way he killedâdesperate, deliberate, consuming. His black lipstick smeared against your mouth and his scarred hands grabbed your face and he kissed you like he was trying to swallow you whole, like he wanted to climb inside your chest and live there, like he'd been starving for years and you were the first thing that tasted real.
And you kissed him back. Just as hard. Just as hungry.
He pulled away gasping, forehead pressed to yours, breathing like he'd run a marathon.
"I'm not going to be normal about this," he said. "I need you to know that. I'm going to be INSANE about this. I'm going to be obsessive and possessive and terrible. I'm going to text you at 4am and send you things that would make normal people vomit and I am not going to apologize for any of it."
"I don't want you to apologize."
"I'm going to want to know where you are all the time."
"I know."
"I'm going to treat you like you're mine."
"I am."
He pulled back to look at you. His eyes were wild. His lipstick was ruined. He looked like something unholy and gorgeous and completely, catastrophically undone.
