2. You've Seen The Butcher
𐕣 𖤐 𐕣 ronin beaufort x psychotic!devoted!reader MASTERLIST
mature|F/M|archive warnings apply|in progress
tags: Killer Chat, Ronin Beaufort/Reader, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Fluff and Smut, Gore, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Torture, Obsessive Love, Murder as a Romantic Metaphor, NSFW
“What the fuck?”
Misaki’s voice blared through #vc in the speakers of your shitty laptop. The others made noises of agreement as they each read the article Angel had just sent in #announcements.
“Police Investigation Rekindled with New Information On the Infamous Butcher.” Holy shit, this was just about the worst thing that could have happened. With Ronin killing consistently with no trace, the best the police had been able to do lately was preventative statements and orders, but revisiting the investigation? They hadn’t touched that in years, at least. Meaning: this was bad, really bad.
You glanced up at where Ronin should have been, but the bastard was gone. And he didn’t even clean up. With a quick “sorry, gotta go, work” you hung up.
Immediately, your head was swimming. You knew your boyfriend was in a risky ass profession, but this was worse than him getting injured like usual. This was a problem that needed to be under the rug IMMEDIATELY. You called Ronin, twice, but it went right to voicemail. You stared at where he’d just been sitting, ruminating on the situation. While your phone was still in hand, you noticed it was well before his shift even started, so you did the logical thing.
You grabbed your keys and drove straight to his house. The asshole never answered the door, probably because he couldn’t hear over his music at max volume, so you opted to skip knocking 12 times and instead scaled the fire escape, landing on his balcony with a thud and a curse. The vibrations of your jump, of course, caused the burgundy-haired man to turn around, seeing you fuming on his balcony. Casually, he stood up and slid open the door.
“Ronin.”
He looked up at you, glaring down at him with a hand on your hip. You could tell even through his facade he was nervous, and it showed in his eyes.
“What. The fuck. Have you. Done.”
“...I may have dropped a bracelet…”
“Ronin…”
“...the one you made me, that says “Ro”...”
“RONIN”
“It’s fiiiine, darlin’. How much info could police get off a bracelet that just happened to be in the area?”
You sighed. For such a smart man, he really could be dense.
“How much info? Oh, let me think…nickname, fingerprints, DNA!!”
Ronin only chuckled at your concern, motioning for you to come inside.
“Relax, darlin’. I’m gonna be just fine.”
Reluctantly, you entered his apartment, grumbling at him the whole time about “responsibility” and “awareness” and “police systems.” He just smirked, steering you to his couch, where he fell onto the cushions, still holding you tight. Your lip quirked- it was hard to stay mad at him like this. Sighing, you looked into his eyes and saw that tiny shift from nonchalance to “forgive me?”
You rolled your eyes and pecked kisses across his face,“so damn difficult, you know that?”
“Oh, but you love difficult. Isn’t that right, pet?”
He didn’t give you a chance to respond, shoving his face into your neck and snuggling further into you. As happy as you were to see him content, your head was fogged with the issue at hand. Clearly, Ronin wasn’t going to deal with this; whether it was fear or ego you would never know. (it was definitely ego.) You’d made your decision by the time Ronin left for work: you were going to take care of this mess he made.
