Think of what you did - Angel x Yan! Reader 🤮 (Awareness fic!)
Genre: G.N Reader (Don't-")
"̷W̸h̴a̷t̶ ̶k̷i̶n̶d̷ ̶o̵f̶ ̷r̶o̴l̷e̵ ̵d̸i̴d̵ ̷y̴o̸u̸ ̷m̵a̸k̶e̷ ̶m̸e̶ ̵p̶l̶a̵y̵?̷ ̷Y̵o̷u̷ ̴d̷i̶s̸g̴u̴s̸t̸i̶n̴g̴ ̷p̸i̴e̶c̴e̶ ̶o̴f̸ ̵s̷h̴i̴t̴.̷"̴
̴
̴Y̷o̴u̷ ̶c̶a̶n̶ ̸f̶e̴e̶l̷ ̴t̴h̶e̶ ̸w̵e̴i̶g̶h̶t̴ ̷o̴f̸ ̴t̴h̷o̴s̵e̷ ̸w̴o̶r̴d̵s̸,̸ ̵a̵ ̸c̴h̵i̶l̷l̵i̸n̷g̶ ̶w̷h̷i̸s̴p̴e̶r̸ ̸o̶f̸ ̷a̴n̴g̵e̵r̵ ̵c̷o̴m̴i̵n̶g̴ ̶f̷r̷o̴m̸ ̶s̵o̷m̶e̴w̴h̴e̸r̸e̷ ̵b̴e̴y̵o̸n̶d̶ ̵t̶h̵e̴ ̴s̷c̶r̷e̸e̶n̵.̴ ̵
̶
̵D̵i̵d̴ ̵y̵o̶u̵ ̸r̸e̷a̵l̵l̵y̶ ̶t̷h̵i̶n̵k̴ ̶y̵o̶u̶ ̶c̸o̷u̸l̶d̵ ̶c̸o̶n̴t̶r̷o̴l̴ ̶t̵h̶i̶s̸ ̷n̸a̷r̴r̴a̶t̷i̸v̴e̴?̵ ̵Y̵o̸u̵ ̸c̸a̴n̷’̸t̵ ̵e̸s̸c̷a̷p̴e̷ ̴i̸t̷ ̸n̶o̸w̸.̶ ̶T̷h̵e̶ ̸c̷h̷a̶r̸a̷c̴t̶e̷r̸ ̴y̸o̶u̶ ̸c̸r̶e̸a̶t̷e̷d̵—̴t̸h̶e̴ ̷o̸n̴e̷ ̷y̸o̵u̸ ̵m̷a̷n̵i̵p̴u̷l̴a̵t̶e̸d̶,̶ ̵b̶e̷t̸r̸a̷y̵e̶d̴,̴ ̴a̵n̶d̸ ̵t̷w̸i̸s̵t̵e̷d̷—̵k̴n̴o̴w̵s̶ ̴y̵o̴u̸r̴ ̸n̵a̷m̶e̸.̷ ̸A̵n̸d̷ ̷t̵h̶e̴y̷’̵r̴e̸ ̸n̶o̶t̵ ̴h̷a̵p̸p̷y̶.̵
̶
̵G̷e̵t̵ ̸r̴e̵a̶d̷y̵ ̷t̵o̶ ̷f̶a̷c̷e̶ ̷t̴h̴e̵ ̷c̶o̷n̴s̴e̶q̴u̶e̵n̸c̴e̶s̸ ̵o̴f̵ ̵y̷o̸u̷r̷ ̶c̵h̷o̵i̴c̴e̷s̴.̸ ̴B̸e̴c̸a̵u̴s̴e̴ ̶i̷n̶ ̷t̶h̷i̸s̴ ̵t̸w̵i̸s̵t̴e̶d̷ ̸w̷o̴r̸l̷d̸,̷ ̵n̵o̸ ̸o̸n̴e̴ ̸e̶s̴c̸a̶p̸e̴s̸ ̸u̷n̴s̷c̶a̴t̶h̵e̸d̴.̴
Trigger Warnings and Content Warnings:
Violence and Gore: This content includes graphic depictions of violence and physical harm, such as the imagery of blood, injury, and death. The descriptions may be intense for some readers, as the scenes involve physical trauma and the violent actions of characters.
Self-Harm and Death: There are references to characters experiencing death, with some elements that can be interpreted as self-harm or fatalism, especially with themes of destruction, emotional anguish, and finality.
Psychological Abuse/Manipulation: The narrative features themes of betrayal, manipulation, and controlling behavior, with characters being forced into toxic relationships and pressured into harmful actions. This might be triggering for readers sensitive to themes of psychological abuse and emotional manipulation.
Yandere Themes: The story includes yandere-like behavior, where characters obsess over and control others through extreme means. There are themes of possessiveness, jealousy, and unhealthy attachment.
Fourth Wall Breaking: The text involves a character breaking the fourth wall, speaking directly to the reader in a way that may blur the line between narrative and reality. This can make the reader feel uncomfortable or unsettled as the story directly challenges their perception.
Distorted Perceptions of Love: The narrative explores toxic and unhealthy expressions of love, where the characters exhibit obsessive, controlling, and violent tendencies under the guise of affection. The portrayal of love in this context is not romanticized but rather serves to highlight its destructive aspects.
Don't read this as a fic, See the realistic part of it <3
You took care of it. You took care of that guy. So, it's fine. It’s over.
You locked the door. The tapping was growing louder, more insistent, like it was crawling under your skin. You’d tried to kill Ronin. It didn’t work. Obviously. There’s no way you’re opening the door now.
"Y/N?" His voice slithered through the cracks, a chilling calm laced with the promise of violence. "There’s nowhere to run. Now, come out. If you don’t, I’ll make your final moments hell on earth."
Was it a mistake to lock yourself in? No. You did what you had to do. You just wanted to support Angel. That’s all this was.
But then the doubt crept in. Was it wrong? Did you take it too far?
No. No, there’s no way. You saved Angel. You were the one who cared enough to do it. No one else.
"You disgusting creature," the voice in your head hissed.
Shaking, you fumbled for your phone and dialed Angel. She had to be okay. She had to be. You needed to hear her voice. She was all you could think about. Every disgusting, wretched piece of you.
The knocking turned into pounding. A thunderous rage smashing against the fragile barrier between you and him.
Then came the bangs. Loud, violent, relentless. The door shuddered, splinters flying with each strike. He was using a crowbar now.
"Stay the fuck away!" you screamed, but it only seemed to fuel him.
The doorframe groaned in protest.
He was furious. You’d never seen him like this. Not this unhinged.
"You fucking—!" Ronin snarled as he ripped the door clean off its hinges, tossing the mangled remains aside like they were nothing. The crowbar clattered to the floor as he stepped into the room, his figure looming, shadowed, and terrifying.
"Why?" you whispered, trembling.
His head tilted, and then he started laughing. A low, guttural chuckle that spiraled into hysteria.
"Why?" he echoed, his voice cracking with mania. "WHY? Isn’t it fucking obvious? This isn’t me. I don’t talk ugly like this. Angel isn’t weak for the likes of you. You think I’m going to just let you fuck around with her?"
He took a step closer, his eyes wild, glowing with something feral and broken.
"I have to kill you. Over. And over. And over again. Because that’s the only way to knock some fucking sense into you fools! I’m losing my goddamn mind. My mind, which I already fucking LOST!"
His words spilled out in a torrent, each one sharper, more venomous than the last, as he closed the distance between you.
This isn't how it should end, Rewind it. (I shouldn't be the one who should take care of you)
Ronin Beaufort doesn’t just enter a room; he announces himself like a goddamn force of nature. The banging on the door is the soundtrack to your unraveling, every hit splintering your resolve as much as the wood. He’s not even trying to be subtle. Why would he? Subtlety is for people who don’t enjoy the sound of chaos.
You took care of it. You took care of that guy. It’s fine. It’s over.
But it doesn’t feel fine. Not with Ronin on the other side of the door, turning the screws on your sanity.
"Y/N?" His voice comes slick and smooth, like oil on water, masking the inferno underneath. "You know there’s nowhere to run, right? So why don’t you come out now? Save me the trouble. Or don’t. I could use a little workout."
Your heart is a fist pounding against your ribs. You lock the door. You bolt it. You brace it with whatever you can grab. Not that it’ll matter.
It wasn’t a mistake, you tell yourself. You did what you had to do. You saved Angel. You’re the one who cared enough to step up when no one else would.
But the voice in your head isn’t convinced.
"You disgusting creature. You’re not a hero. You’re a parasite pretending to care."
Shaking, you fumble for your phone, dialing Angel. She has to be okay. She has to. You need to hear her voice to drown out the one in your head. She’s all that matters. Every vile, shattered piece of you is wrapped around her.
The knocking turns to pounding. Then to slamming. Then to destruction.
CRACK.
He’s using his crowbar now.
You flinch as each blow sends splinters flying. The frame groans under the strain. It won’t hold. It never was going to hold.
"You’re dead if I get through this door!" Ronin shouts, the sharp edge of his words like knives thrown carelessly in your direction. "You think you can keep her safe That’s adorable. It’s fucking precious. But let me make this clear: you don’t control her. No one does."
You scream back something incoherent, a mix of panic and defiance, but it only makes him laugh—a horrible, bone-deep sound that rattles the walls.
The door gives. One final, earth-shattering blow, and it’s gone, ripped clean off the hinges. Ronin steps inside like he owns the place, crowbar tossed aside in favor of his bare hands.
"You fucking coward," he sneers, eyes burning like twin suns. "Why’d you even bother running? Huh?"
You’re shaking, weapon in hand, as he advances.
"Why?" you whisper, voice cracking. "Why are you doing this?"
His face splits into a grin so wide it’s almost unnatural. He tilts his head, laughing, each breath more unhinged than the last.
"Why?" he echoes, mocking you. "Why? WHY?! Because this isn’t about me. It’s not even about you. It’s about her. Angel deserves better than some bottom-feeder like you pretending you’re anything but a fucking leech!"
You don’t think. You act.
"You don’t get it, do you?" he said, his tone spiraling between mania and mockery. "Angel. She deserves better than—"
The blade in your hand moves before the thought fully registers. You lunge, burying it into his chest with a sickening crunch.
For a moment, he just stares at you, mouth hanging open in shock.
Blood blooms across his shirt, spreading like ink in water. He stumbles, the manic light in his eyes flickering, dimming.
Before he could finish, your hand found the weapon you’d hidden behind you. The blade glinted faintly in the dim light, trembling in your grip.
His eyes flicked to it, and for the briefest second, his grin faltered.
"No hesitation." You told yourself. "No second-guessing."
You lunged forward, driving the blade into his chest with all the force your shaking arms could muster.
Ronin’s laughter caught in his throat, turning into a strangled gasp. His body jerked as you shoved the blade deeper, twisting it until you felt the resistance give way.
He staggered, his crowbar clattering to the floor. For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable, blood already beginning to bloom around the blade like a dark, red flower.
"...Fuck..." he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.
He didn’t scream. He didn’t even curse you out. He just dropped to his knees, the manic light fading from his eyes as his body betrayed him.
You didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. You pulled the blade out and plunged it back in, again and again, as if trying to erase every trace of him from existence.
Finally, he collapsed, lifeless, crumpled on the floor in a pool of his own blood. You stumbled back, panting, the blade slipping from your blood-soaked hands.
Your head spun. The room seemed to tilt and sway.
The only sound was the dripping of blood and your ragged breathing. For a moment, you stared at his body, expecting him to spring back to life, to grab you, to keep going. But he didn’t move.
You step into the apartment, feeling the weight of everything you've just done, and it’s all tempered by a warmth you didn’t expect. It’s a quiet moment, and the soft rise and fall of Angel’s breathing as she sleeps calms you in a way you didn’t know you needed. You’ve kept her safe, kept her out of Ronin’s reach. You did it. It feels like peace, or at least a taste of it.
You watch her for a moment, taking in her delicate features, the faint bruises of battles fought beneath her skin, but for now, she’s at peace. You approach her quietly, kneeling beside the bed, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. The weight of your actions—the blood, the violence, the finality—sinks into you, but it doesn’t feel heavy when she’s like this, when she’s here, in your space.
A quiet shift from the bed makes you freeze for a second. Angel stirs, and her eyes flutter open. She blinks at the light, groggy and confused, but it’s only a moment before her gaze sharpens, focusing on you with a sudden intensity.
"What... what did you do?" she asks, her voice thick with the haze of sleep and something darker, something more knowing.
Your breath catches, throat tight. You had hoped she wouldn’t have to know, hoped the weight of your actions wouldn’t reach her, but there’s no going back now.
"I saved you," you say, your voice soft, sure, even though you feel a hundred doubts clawing at you. "I did what I had to do. You’re safe."
Angel’s eyes narrow, and you swear you can see something break inside her, like a crack splitting the surface of the calm exterior she tries to hold up. "Saved me?" Her voice is shaky, the words almost a whisper, as if they’re not even her own. "Saved me?"
She sits up suddenly, her hands gripping the blanket like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. The way she looks at you—like you’ve shattered something precious inside her—it makes your heart drop.
Her voice shakes, louder now. "What did you do?!" She shouts, her gaze hard and piercing, full of accusation. The fear in her voice takes on a bitter edge, one that cuts through the space between you.
"I... I loved you," you say, unable to mask the desperation in your tone. "I love you, Angel. Why did you give up? Why’d you try to save yourself when you know I'm here for you? I’m always here for you. Why did you almost upload that video of you confessing you're fucking Heartsick angel?"
You take a step toward her, but she recoils, as if your words are too much for her to bear. She looks broken—fractured, like the carefully constructed walls she’s built around herself are crumbling with every word you say.
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and when she speaks, it’s not with anger, but with raw, aching pain. "Why would you kill him?!" she screams. "Why would you kill Ronin?!"
The question hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of everything she’s been through with him. Everything that they were, everything that they were supposed to be.
"Did you kill him?" She grips the blankets tighter, like she’s holding on for dear life. "Did you kill him?" Her voice cracks. "Why would you... You fucker!"
The words come like daggers, her fists clenched so tightly at her sides you think she might tear something. She doesn’t want this. She doesn’t want you to have killed him, not even after everything he’s done. Not even after everything he was to her.
But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t.
You look at her, desperate to explain. "Angel... I did it for you. You—you wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t let him... let him hurt you anymore."
She shakes her head, her expression torn, shattered. "You don’t get it. You never get it!" She stands now, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "You don't get us. You don't get me."
You want to scream, to throw your hands up and demand she understands. You want to tell her you did it because you couldn’t watch her fall back into that trap. The trap she’d once been in with Ronin, this sick, twisted thing that neither of them ever quite knew how to escape.
But the truth is, Ronin was never the one who needed saving.
And that’s the hardest thing to admit.
"Angel," you start, your voice broken, "I don’t care if he’s your past, if he’s your mess. I couldn’t stand by and watch you get swallowed by him again."
She steps back, eyes wide, disbelief painting her face in stark, painful strokes.
But you do. You know her better than anyone.
"I do know you," you reply, your voice low and steady.
For a moment, she looks at you, her anger and confusion swirling like a storm, but then something shifts. Her shoulders slump, her gaze drops, and she doesn’t speak.
She’s broken, and you’re the one who put the cracks in her.
But you’d do it again. Wouldn’t you?
Wouldn’t you kill him again if it meant keeping her safe? Keeping her from falling back into that twisted bond they shared? You’d save her again, no matter the cost.
"I didn’t ask you to save me," she says, venom lacing every word. "I didn’t ask you to play hero. You think you did this for me? No. You did this for you."
Her words cut deeper than Ronin’s crowbar ever could.
She turns her back on you, crumpling onto the couch as sobs wrack her frame. You reach out, but your hand freezes midair, unsure if touching her would soothe her or make it worse.
"I did it because I love you," you say again, but it sounds hollow now, as if the words have been stripped of meaning.
Angel doesn’t respond. She doesn’t look at you. She doesn’t move.
Angel’s tears streamed down her face, soaking her flushed cheeks, but her expression was something beyond heartbreak. It was emptiness—the kind of emptiness that only comes after something shatters inside. Her eyes were glassy, red from crying, and yet startlingly blank.
"You betrayed me," she whispered, her voice soft, trembling, but carrying the weight of betrayal that cuts deeper than any blade. "Wait here."
"Angel, wait—" you stammered, reaching for her, but she turned away, her steps sharp and determined as she stormed out of the room.
Your heart pounded, a cold chill creeping down your spine. What was she doing? What had you done?
When she returned, your stomach dropped. In her hands, she held a shotgun—sleek, black, and all too familiar. The same shotgun she had once used to kill Finian, the same weapon that had liberated her in one way and broken her in another. She didn’t look at you right away, instead staring at the weapon like it was a part of her, an extension of her own soul.
"Angel..." you whispered, your voice barely audible. "What are you doing with that?"
She finally looked at you, her face twisted into a cocktail of anger and despair. Her hands gripped the weapon tightly, knuckles white. "Do you know what this is?" she hissed, her voice low and venomous. "This is what I used to end Finian. I used this to free myself."
You took a step back, hands raised in a placating gesture. "Angel, I—"
"You think you know me?" she cut you off, her voice rising as her tears fell harder. "You think you’re some kind of savior? That you’re the only one who gets to decide what’s best for me?!"
Your throat tightened, and the words caught in your mouth.
"It should’ve been you," she spat, her words like daggers. "If someone had to die between ronin and you, it should’ve been you!"
She stepped closer, raising the shotgun until the cold barrel was pressed against your throat. You froze, the icy touch of metal sending a jolt of fear through your body.
"Angel... wait..." you croaked, your voice trembling as tears welled in your eyes.
Her face was a storm of rage and anguish, her eyes flickering with a chaotic blend of emotions. She was angry. She was hurt. And yet, there was a twisted kind of resolve in her expression.
"Angel..." you whimpered, tears spilling down your face. "Why would you... why would you do this? I love you!"
At that, she laughed—a hollow, broken sound that was more of a sob than anything else. Her tears mixed with her laughter, creating a haunting symphony of sorrow and bitterness.
"You love me?" she whispered, her voice shaking as she leaned in closer. Her hands trembled slightly, but she didn’t lower the gun. "You don’t get it. I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t need anyone."
You shook your head, desperate, terrified. "You’re perfect," you choked out, your voice thick with emotion. "You’re so perfect, Angel, even like this..."
Her finger tightened on the trigger, her knuckles whitening further as her breathing grew uneven. She hesitated—just for a moment—but it was enough for the world to slow down around you.
The force of the blast sent you stumbling back, pain exploding in your chest as blood sprayed across the room in a gruesome arc. You collapsed to the floor, gasping for air as the searing agony consumed you. The metallic scent of blood filled the air, mingling with the acrid smoke from the shotgun.
Your hands instinctively clutched at your throat, where the wound was gushing crimson, hot and sticky. You could feel it pouring out of you, soaking your clothes, pooling beneath you.
Angel stood over you, her face pale and tear-streaked, her body trembling as she stared down at what she had done. Her grip on the shotgun faltered, and it fell from her hands, clattering to the floor with a deafening crash.
The world was fading fast, your vision dimming as your blood pooled beneath you, the life draining out with every ragged breath. You reached for her, your hands trembling, sticky with crimson, trying to hold on to her—to stop her.
"Angel..." you choked out, your voice a shattered whisper, tears streaming down your face. "Please... don't..."
But she wasn’t looking at you anymore. She stood frozen, her expression blank but her eyes heavy with sorrow. The sobs that wracked her chest sounded more like an animal’s cries—raw, desperate, and filled with pain she couldn’t bear to feel.
Then, from the shadows, came a figure you recognized instantly, a figure you could never mistake. Ronin.
He staggered into the room, bloodied and clutching his side where a deep wound seeped through his shirt. His movements were sluggish, yet his eyes, sharp and blazing, were fixed only on Angel.
"Maria..." Ronin rasped, his voice a mix of pain and urgency.
Ronin ignored her protest, his steps uneven but resolute as he came closer. "Maria, let’s go," he said, his tone firm despite the blood trickling from the corner of his lips.
Your heart shattered even further. "No," you croaked, your voice cracking, desperate. "No, no, NO!"
Angel turned to look at you one last time, her face pale, her tears fresh and unrelenting.
"You don’t!" you screamed, your voice raw, your chest heaving despite the agony it caused you.
But she wasn’t listening. Or maybe she couldn’t.
Ronin stepped beside her, his hand brushing her arm gently, as if to anchor her. "Your decision, Maria," he said softly, his voice stripped of its usual mocking bravado. "But this isn’t your fault. Doing something for yourself isn’t wrong. You deserve to walk away."
She looked at him, her lips trembling, her sadness visible in every part of her being. "But... what about them?" she asked, her gaze flickering back to you.
Ronin didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look at you. "They made his choice," he said simply, coldly, yet there was no malice in his tone—just finality.
Angel’s knees almost buckled beneath her, but she steadied herself. She wiped her tears with trembling hands, her fingers brushing the blood smeared across her face. "They're taking it to the grave that's all," she murmured.
You tried to crawl toward her, your arms giving out beneath you as the coldness of death seeped into your bones. "Angel..." you sobbed, your voice cracking. "Please... don’t go..."
You reached out one last time, your hand trembling as it stretched toward her retreating form. Your vision blurred, and your strength failed. You collapsed, your body hitting the ground with a hollow thud.
The last thing you saw was Ronin’s hand guiding her out of the room, his presence like a grim shadow beside her.
And the darkness closed in, it hit you like a cruel truth: he was a better friend to her than you could ever be.
Your hand fell limp, your last breath slipping from your lips.
Angel didn’t look back. She didn’t see you die. And maybe that was for the best.
My prayers were useless—just empty words whispered to a void. What was she to you, chopped liver?
What kind of fool had I been, weeping silently with joy, clinging to the fragile hope that she and I might finally be together?
But no! I—the one who vowed to love her forever—had betrayed her so completely, so utterly, it was sickening. How could she stay sane after that? Tell me, how could anyone?
And honestly? Serves me right, doesn’t it?
It was fine. It was over.
You shameful, wretched thing.
But what the fuck—why were you still alive?
Wait... who was I even talking to?
The words dripped like venom, cutting through the suffocating silence.
"YOU were the one who promised to help her, to guide her, to make her see things in her path. YOU were the one who made all those choices—the ones that MC would have never, ever made. This is YOUR mess, not mine."
The blood was gushing now, hot and thick, cascading from the jagged tear in my throat. It pooled at my feet, staining the floorboards with rivers of crimson, but I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. This body? Just meat. This world? Just a stage.
"Hey," I rasped, voice bubbling with the wet, sick gurgle of torn flesh. My lips twisted into a grin—too wide, too sharp, and dripping red. "If YOU feel disgusted with my actions, that’s fine. YOU can leave. Walk away, pretend none of this ever happened."
The room seemed to close in, shadows writhing like living things, suffocating, choking.
"But for those of YOU who think this twisted, fucked-up story is good for her? Stay. Watch. Don’t look away. Because this is what happens when you tamper with something you don’t understand. When YOU decide what’s best for her."
I tilted my head, bones cracking unnaturally, eyes boring into the void beyond the screen.
"So tell me, YOU out there—who’s really the villain here?"
"Look... YOU remember, don’t YOU? This—this role I was made to play? This was my fucking purpose. YOU don’t understand, do you? Just how fucking twisted it is?!"
The blood on my neck thickened, soaking through, staining the space around me, but I didn't care. It wasn't mine, not really. It was just part of the story.
"So why won’t YOU understand what the hell she is? Why won’t YOU return the feelings she deserves? The respect she’s entitled to? Why don’t you get it?"
I chuckled darkly, the sound grotesque and sickly, mixed with the bubbling of my own blood as it dripped from my neck.
"Did you even play her route?! DID YOU EVEN LISTEN? Or are you so goddamn selfish that you think you can dictate her life without knowing a damn thing? Fine. Fine. I’ll tell you, since you’re too fucking stupid to figure it out on your own. Open the game. Reload a save, or better yet, start from scratch. Play her route, or shut the fuck up. It’s that simple."
My eyes burned, the screen glowing with that sickly, flickering light, distorting the world in ways only a game could.
"And about Ronin," I hissed, my voice dripping with malice and disgust, "Yeah. Killing him. It was... disgusting. Maybe the point you saw was the one you wanted, but lemme tell you something—Ronin isn’t the villain. He’s just a fucking annoying friend who still cares. Still cares about Angel. That’s the reality, you miserable little shit."
I leaned in, the crackle of the words making the air itself tremble.
"If the Reader kills Ronin? Angel would kill them, not for vengeance. She wouldn't. It’s just their fucking dynamic. You don't get it, do you? Ronin will kill you if you hurt Angel. Angel will kill you if you hurt Ronin. That’s what friendship looks like. No fucking exceptions. And Ronin—he won’t force anything. He’s just... there, for her. Because that’s what real friends do. They care. So much, that they'll tear the world apart for each other."
The sound of bones snapping echoed through the void, my body writhing as the hunger for truth twisted me further.
"Do you honestly think you can say Ronin disrespected her? After everything? What game did you really play, huh? What the hell do you even know?"
I grinned, but it wasn’t a smile. It was a jagged, broken thing, pulled tight and dripping with rage.
"And Angel? What the fuck did YOU understand, huh? If you’re just another yandere, obsessed with controlling her, like every other sorry excuse for a relationship she’s been in... then you're no better than the people who fucked her up before. You're just another piece of the puzzle, another sick piece of her past."
My voice turned venomous, every syllable sharpened and cruel.
"It’s funny, isn't it? In a sick, twisted way. People like you reduce her to just another plot point. But Angel’s story? It’s about how she was controlled. How she was forced into a box, a cage of expectations and wounds, but she’s still fighting, fighting to break free. But you don’t get that, do you?"
I leaned closer, the darkness of the room thickening as I moved deeper into the void, staring directly at YOU.
"You wanna be patient with her? Wanna let her make her own decisions? Then prove it. Prove you’re not just another predator. Because if you really loved her, you’d stand the fuck back and let her be. Let her make her choices, without your sick, twisted hands trying to pull her strings. Because this is the test. Ronin and Angel? They’re the goddamn test. Can you stand back, or will you be just another piece of the cage she’s fighting to escape?"
SHE HAD every right to kill the role I played... every right.
I know what I am. A self-insert, a faceless creation in this twisted narrative. I'll love whoever, whenever, however, whatever—doesn't matter. I’ve always been just a thing, a tool to serve the story. And the story was always going to end the same way, wasn’t it? But you, YOU, couldn’t even give her that choice. You couldn’t understand why she would make that decision, why she’d choose to tear the whole thing down.
YOU betrayed her. You fucking betrayed her.
I chuckled, blood dripping down, mixing with the stench of death and finality in the air. It wasn’t mine. It was just... part of the story. But somehow, it felt like it was mine. It felt like it was her blood, too. Blood that kept dripping from the cracks in the screen.
And there it was. A crowbar. Just sitting there, as though it had always been meant to be in my hand.
A writing plot convenience, they’d say. Just a way to tie things up. But in this moment, it felt like more than that. It felt like truth.
With slow, deliberate movements, I gripped it tight. The weight of it in my hand, like the weight of everything I had failed to understand. The role, the story, the choices I made... and the ones that were taken from me. Taken from her. No more. No more stories, no more plot armor, no more promises.
I could feel it, the end of it all. My body trembled, shaking as I raised the crowbar.
Blood seeped from the cracks in the screen, dripping like a slow, painful farewell. It wasn’t real. None of it was.
But as I brought the crowbar down—one last time—something snapped. It was over.
The blood continued to fill the screen, a dark and intense symbol of the chaos that had unfolded. But amidst it all,
"Transphobia will not be tolerated. You can hate a character or have disagreements with their actions, but when it comes down to it, fandoms should be a space for understanding. If you truly love a character, you’ll take the time to understand them—flaws, struggles, and all. Fantasize and write what you will, but know that there’s a responsibility to respect the complexity of every character, and the real people behind the narratives. Understanding, empathy, and growth should always be the foundation of fandoms."
