#writer mc

Karina hovered uncertainly above Ronin, who lay back on the black silk sheets with that familiar wolfish grin. His hands gripped her hips with the same strength that had wielded the crowbar hours earlier, now softer but no less commanding.

"Are you sure about this?" she whispered, running nervous fingers through her black hair. The irony wasn't lost on her; that she felt more afraid and uncertain in this moment of intimacy than she had watching him commit murder. It was a testament to how thoroughly he had corrupted her soul, how he had transformed her into his princess of rot.

"C'mere darlin'," he drawled, voice thick with anticipation. "s’your birthday, remember?"

His grip tightened slightly, a reminder of the strength he was capable of. She could still see traces of dried blood under his fingernails, a subtle reminder of their earlier activities. The red neon lights hanging on the walls caught the raw hunger in his eyes, turning them almost black with desire.

"What if I hurt you?" she asked, “I read once a girl broke her boyfriend’s nose doing this.”

"Baby I can lift ya no problem, you're like a hundred pounds soaking wet," he demonstrated this by lifting her by her hips without much strain.

"I'm a hundred and fifteen you jerk," she pouted as he placed her down on his chest again. Her heart raced, feeling his strength, knowing those same hands that had violently ended her father now handled her with such reverent care. Taking a steadying breath, she shifted forward, carefully positioning herself over his face.

For him, the ecstasy was instant - his eyes rolled back as he let out a deep groan that vibrated through her core.  Her scent, her taste, driving him absolutely mad.

Having her above him like this, vulnerable yet powerful, was a kind of heaven he never thought he'd witness from his place in hell. Like a ray of sunshine piercing the depths of damnation.

His grip on her thighs tightened possessively as he worshipped her, each movement of his tongue a prayer. The same mouth that had laughed while dealing death now brought her pleasure, and the duality of their lives at this point made everything more intense.

Above him, Karina's breath came in short gasps as she surrendered to the sensation. Her hands gripped the headboard, fingers white-knuckled against the dark wood. Neon bathing them in an unholy red glow; a dance with the devil and his beloved creation.

Her whole body trembled as she rocked against his mouth, his hands steadying her hips. Every movement drew another moan from deep in his chest, the vibrations sending shockwaves through her core. This was Ronin at his most devoted; transformed from destroyer to worshipper, though no less intense in his dedication.

Her thighs quivered around his head as pleasure built inside her. Through half-lidded eyes, she watched him, he was focused and very evidently enjoying himself as he sucked hard on her clit. His hands slid up her sides, one settling on her breast while the other wrapped around her throat in a gentle reminder of his control.

The dual sensation of his mouth and his hand at her throat pushed her closer to the edge. This was their love; tender violence, controlled chaos, beauty wrapped in darkness. Her breath came in short gasps as she ground against him, chasing release.  Sweat collected on her brow, beading and dripping down her body.  As she leaned forward her long black hair enveloping them like a curtain. 

"Ronin," she whimpered, one hand tangling in his wine dark hair, pulling gently as she rode his face. His response was to tighten his grip slightly, both at her throat and her breast, silently urging her toward climax.

She trembled atop him, gripping the headboard hard as waves of intense sensation washed over her. Ronin's grip tightened possessively, his movements becoming more focused and deliberate. The room spun around her and stars exploded like fireworks in her vision as she arched back, crying out his name like a dark prayer.  She pulled him by his hair, keeping him where he was while his tongue flicked.

Her release hit her hard, moans spilling from her lips in incoherent babbling.  She collapsed forward against the headboard, breathing heavily and limbs trembling. Ronin guided her gently off him and pulled her down into his arms. His face glistened as he grinned up at her with pure adoration.

"Happy birthday, darlin'," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"I love you," she whispered, tracing the scars on his chest. "Thank you for everything. For understanding me."

His arms tightened around her protectively. "Course I would, the rot within you jus’ needed help to bloom."

“Do…” she paused, collecting her thoughts, “do you wanna get off too?”

---

I like to imagine Vil and this MC truly only get to knowing each other through time together at Ramshackle. While he's toiling away with his duties working on the performance group, this MC has a side writing project they've been working on for a while. They do their part, but oftentimes they can be seen scribbling stuff down in a notebook, or spending long periods writing in a journal. And if they have it, typing away on a laptop or leaving notes to themselves in their phone.

The behavior sticks out, and at first Vil thinks that they might be taking this very seriously and taking notes on the performances. He asks them about their notes in front of the group and MC just goes ".... Sorry those are a different project."

"What kind of project?"

"... Writing."

"Please do it on your own time."

"With all due respect, if I don't write things as they come to me, I will lose them."

Vil, sighing, shaking his head. "Just don't let it interfere with your work. If you slack even a little, and I'm taking all your notebooks and such away."

---

All went well until MC missed a rehearsal call and Vil found them in Ramshackle on their computer typing furiously away at their work. The performance troupe watch on as Vil begins taking away MC's stuff, only for MC to lose it and tell him he's not responsible for them so he should back off. Vil, pissed at their lack of commitment, coldly finishes taking away their shit and locks it all in a box with a curse that anyone who opens the box before the final rehearsal will find themselves asleep until the next morning.

While the troupe considered his methods brutal, taking pity on MC's situation, none of them can open the box without incurring Vil's wrath anyway.

Which is fine because MC got Grim to open it with a promise of tuna and belly rubs.

---

Vil would wake up to MC on the couch in Ramshackle, tired, surrounded by all their stuff, Grim tucked up next to them as they write away. At this point, he's no longer heat-of-the-moment pissed, and finds himself curious about what drove the MC to go so far for their stuff back. He leans against the back of the couch, looking over their shoulder.

"I see someone's a bit of a criminal."

"It's more criminal to lock up my shit like I'm a toddler."

Ignoring their biting comment, Vil decides to question; "What is it about this stuff that it's worth more than your responsibilities and that you'd be willing to subject a friend to a curse to get it back?"

"I'm writing. Been hit with a really intense new muse, and I've been writing the most amazing story. It's why it takes up so much of my time and thoughts. It's revitalizing though."

"A new muse. What's your muse?"

"You, actually." MC doesn't look up from their work, but they do pause in their typing.

Vil finds himself thoroughly intrigued. And a little nervous, considering how hard he's been pushing everyone. ".. What kind of story is it?"

"It's a story of a protagonist that has to make a lot of tough calls and is strict, but for good reason. I saw your leadership style and it really stood out to me in an interesting way. You're more free-form than people would probably admit, you just want to ensure people under your tutelage have the means for success. You have a good idea of how to get them there, but if they can find it on their own, you'll support it. I liked that approach a lot and thought it'd make for a really inspiring leader in a messed up situation/world. The actual plot is a sci-fi horror. A harsh environment that really helps the personality to shine for its beneficial nature."

Vil is actually... touched. Hearing how he seems through their eyes is like drinking in an opinion he's been long-awaiting for. They don't know his desire to be a hero, they don't know how long he's worked to try to break out of the mold of his typecasting, and yet here they saw a hero character in him already. A hero type that Neige LeBlanche could never fit. He's staring at MC, realizing he knows nothing about them. He knows nothing about who they are and what they're doing here, or even why they became a leader in the first place. "You talk as though you're not a leader yourself."

"I suppose I am. Though, I'm a reluctant leader. Not someone with a passion for it like you. I was thrown into it. Crowley's a mess of a leader. I think calling him a leader is a bit of a stretch of the truth. But you? You're fascinating. Epel hates being under your thumb, but he works twice as hard because of it. And Epel could quit. He could quit and choose not to abide by your rules regardless, but he doesn't, because he sees that strength in you. You practice what you preach so well that even your dissenters respect that if they can't beat you, they should work with you."

Vil finds himself actually almost.. blushing. A warmth in his cheeks tells him that staying here any longer could cause him to lose his composure. He stands up. "You can keep your things, but don't miss anymore practices. Understood?"

"Aye aye, captain." MC just, giving him a soft salute as they return to typing.

---

I just really like the idea of a writer MC writing something and being like "Vil, you'd make for the leader in this really well."

"What of the rest of the cast?"

"There's a bright-eyed optimist who almost gets everyone killed because he thinks he's fighting an injustice, but is actually fighting the only person keeping the place afloat-"

"Who would you see in that part?"

"I have no idea. I don't know actors in this world. Wait. Actually, that Neige guy would probably be great for the part if he can pull off the whole knight in shining armor trope only to have it blow up in his face because this story is supposed to be more real and gritty."

"..... I'll do it."

"Vil it isn't even finished"

"You should have thought about that before sharing. Finish writing it, that's not a request. I want to play this part."

A story where he not only gets to be the hero, but also where Neige could play the part of the villain in a very believable plot??