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kentopedia · 7 months

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it's been decades since you've last seen dazai; your lover & your maker. now that you're finally happy, he's haunting you again with a thousand buried memories.

overall contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, exes to lover, gothic romance, blood drinking, vampire!reader, vampire!dazai, smut, cheating reader, complicated relationships, blood, gore, jealousy, manipulation, religious symbolism, betrayal, reunions — currently at 21k words

PART II ♰ MASTERLIST

For the weeks that followed, Dazai kept his distance, though it didn’t matter where he strayed—you could always feel him nearby. His company was overwhelming, conspicuous, and watchful. He crept behind you when you were in public and remained your shadow until you arrived back home.

Even in the moments that you were in the arms of another, Dazai’s presence remained with you like a malady you couldn’t shake. Within your very home, he lingered, his features behind your eyelids, his voice imbued in the melody of the neighbor’s overwhelmingly loud piano playing.

Dazai may have disappeared from your view, but he was never really gone. It was a theme that continued to plague your undead lifetime.

Although you rejected the musings of your irrational heart, it became clear to you that your feelings for Dazai had been buried instead of erased, pushed away to protect yourself from the wounds that he had given you.

A singular heartstring had pulled the minute you’d seen the dark-haired man again, and it had reached out, wrapped itself around him, tugged tight until it was drawing you nearer and nearer, desperate to be back with the person that controlled it like a marionette.

It was terrifying, really, to consider that years apart couldn’t diminish the lustful desperation you felt for the older vampire. A need that resembled worship, a desire to be close to the beautiful god that had created you.

Though you rejected it, hated Dazai with every logical fiber within your mind, a bout of guilt still grew within you. The bleak future ahead of you had suddenly brightened with Atsushi’s overwhelming warmth, and the revolting, otherworldly bond you’d once shared with Dazai threatened to steal all of the gentleness away from your existence.

Atsushi’s love was the kind you’d always wanted. It was without stipulations, wholesome, and sickeningly sweet. He gave you everything, and in return, you offered up only the parts of yourself that had stopped belonging to Dazai.

Since the dark-haired man had infiltrated your city, the newspaper headlines had been splashed with visceral depictions of death, gruesome scenes that would make any human’s stomach curl.

Atsushi showed them to you each day, relaying the formulated opinions of the other detectives he worked with. Though they were just as keen as Atsushi about the world of blood-sucking monsters, they seemed more willing to ignore the signs of a new vampire, certain that they’d already snuffed them all out.

When the seventh body had been drained of blood, the signs of a vampire finally recognizable, he asked the question you knew he’d been avoiding.

“Do you know anything about this?”

You looked up from the coffee that he stirred, the newspaper crunching in his other fist. It was dawn—late enough for you to be ready for sleep, and early enough for Atsushi to want just the same. Orange light began in the distance. You would have to retreat to your bedroom soon.

“About what?”

Your fiancé’s features pinched, but he remained patient with you. Always so gentle, never one to be quick to anger. He was different from Dazai—he was kind. That, at least, was a comfort you could hold onto.

Atsushi set the newspaper down, rustling through his drawers before pulling out a dossier of reports that he’d brought home from the agency. There were detailed descriptions of the murders; some had been ferociously torn apart, as if mauled by a wild animal, their organs exposed to oxygen. Some had been tossed into the river, left to decompose, their bodies gray and withered. Others laid naked, pale, and drained of their blood completely, large gashes in their major arteries.

Any rational person would guess that these were the work of separate individuals. There was nothing to link them together, no pattern that would signify that a killer ran rampant on the city.

“You know what I mean.”

You blinked, eyes shifting from the newspaper, back to his purple eyes. Though you tried to spill the truth from your lips, your mouth ran dry, resisting any incrimination of Dazai.

I know who it is, but he’s dangerous, Atsushi. Please stay out of this.

The truth didn’t come.

“If you’re insinuating it’s a vampire, I don’t know who it could be.”

Atsushi’s eyes narrowed, hardly noticeable, searching for any sort of lie. When he was unable to detect one, he exhaled, visibly relaxing.

“That’s good. Everyone said it wasn't a vampire, but I thought...” Atsushi trailed off, as if calming himself, and he was so distant that he didn’t notice your shoulders relax. “Well, it doesn't meatter what I think. This means we can handle it.”

Your smile was weak when he leaned down to kiss you on the forehead, still shaken by the macabre scenes he’d encountered recently. They affected him more than he let on—you could see the way his hands shook, his fitful rests at night.

Atsushi would try to stay upright for the sake of the agency and his duty to the public, though at what cost, you couldn’t be certain. He had seen his fair share of horrors, but it hadn’t been until Dazai had come to town that they’d turned so incredibly gory.

You had no idea what he would do if he found out that you’d once been the same way. That you’d created those same images with Dazai at your side, feeling no shame when you massacred villages just to see a smile on on the older vampire's face.

Sick with remorse, you cleared your thoughts, trying to forget how sweet the blood had tasted, how addicting being in love with Dazai had once been. It was a life you were glad to be rid of, even if you could never let yourself forget it.

“Are you being careful, Atsushi?” you asked, nervously twirling the edges of your skirt.

Briefly, you wondered if you were protecting Dazai or yourself.

In was no surprise, you wanted to keep the agency from calling in vampire hunters. They’d recognize what you pretended so hard not to be, and all your plans with Atsushi would be erased if others caught wind of what you were.

But when Atsushi smiled at you, so gently and completely without the darkness that had consumed Dazai, you knew that all of your precautions were also to keep him safe.

“I’m always careful, love. Don’t worry.” He adjusted his tie and then squeezed your hand once more, leaving you finally to rest. Though, even as the sun rose high in the sky, you remained wide awake, tinged with worry and fear that Dazai would change his mind.

Two days passed without incident. The papers didn’t reveal any more shocking murders, and Atsushi got a day off after working more hours than any living person should.

He’d been staying up late with no one to keep him company but you. When he couldn’t fall asleep, you sat on his lap, peppering his face with kisses, sinking to your knees until you’d relaxed him completely. Although, as much as you tried to help, your methods could only do so much to ease his mind.

Atsushi came home early on the second day without a murder, his eyes puffy and dark with exhaustion.

“Atsushi—” you began, displeased by how exhausted he’d become.

He ignored your rebuttals and tried to weasel his arms around you, pressing gentle kisses up your neck. “We can go out when the sun goes down,” he said, biting a mark just under your ear, the smile soft on your skin. “I’ve got the day off tomorrow.”

You laughed, running your fingers through his thick hair, lifeless heart beating at a thought of a night out with him. Though, when he rested his weight on your own, head drooping onto your shoulder like a child, you knew it wouldn’t be today. “You need a good night’s rest, Atsushi. You’re exhausted.”

“No, I’m fine,” he said, but his dramatic yawn was a better response then words.

“Another night, honey.” you kissed his cheek. “Promise?”

Atsushi frowned, somehow upset with himself for not being up for a night out in the city. Even though you hadn’t gotten much time together recently, Atsushi wasn’t to blame. The agency had been working overtime on these murder cases, and that included him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” you said, squeezing his hand. “I’d much rather wait until you’re up for it, and…” trailing off, you licked your lips, unable to focus on his curious expression. “I’m sorry we can’t go out like a normal couple.”

Atsushi’s feature shifted, melting into the usual pool of tenderness. His shoulders relaxed. “You know I don’t mind. I love you, my darling.”

He hugged you tighter, and when you stiffened at the sweet name that Dazai had always used for you, Atsushi didn’t notice.

He’d never called my darling before. It felt wrong coming from his lips—the wrong pitch, inflection. It didn’t have the same mocking pull to each syllable, didn't feel like the rush that cam with Dazai's lips.

“I’ve been working so much,” Atsushi continued, unbeknownst to your inner conflict. “We haven’t gotten to see much of each other recently.”

While you hesitated, you recovered smoothly, and pulled back to face him completely once more. “You’re saving the city. I can never be mad at you for that.”

Atsushi smiled, tired and beaten down, before brushing his bangs out of his face. Finally, he accepted his own inability to remain standing, and began to retreat back to the bedroom, letting go of your skin centimeter by centimeter. “I’m sure I’ll be fast asleep when you get back.”

You laughed. “Good night, Atsushi.”

Then, he was gone, and you were left with your oldest friend, the one that sent you a greeting in the dark night sky like a beacon. It was a full moon tonight, cold, and white.

Once, you’d loved the evenings, the calm serenity that came with the blackness of night. Now, all you longed for was the sun, even if the rays burnt your skin to a crisp. It seemed more alluring than the thought of a future with no definitive end.

Despite your hunger, you waited in the apartment for the night to fall completely. Even though you’d spent the entire day by yourself, you had no desire to be around great crowds of people, stumbling around in search of a last-minute meal.

You meandered around your home, vampiric hearing attuned to the tossing and turning that Atsushi did in his sleep. While he made soft noises of displeasure, he didn’t seem to be having nightmares—the only good sign that you could see.

All the books on your shelf were unappealing. The newspapers had been read from front to back already. Atsushi was exhausted, so you couldn’t make any noise, and every inch of the apartment was already clean.

Finally, you grew bored enough to leave, and you sighed as you felt the crisp air, dispelling your existential thoughts. There was still a hope in your future, as long as Atsushi was around. You would no longer have to dread the fear that came with a meaningless immortality.

The night was quiet, even for the city. People had retired earlier than usual, perhaps out of the fear that they’d be the next victims of the murders that rampaged.

You crossed the street, noticing that people kept an unusual distance from strangers, eyeing each person they didn’t recognize like they would stab them in the back. It was an unpleasant sight to witness.

The destination was sharp in your mind as you headed towards the pub at the edge of town, walking without thinking, despite only having been there once. It was in a seedy part of the city, run-down and cheap, but it was full of the kind of people no one would miss.

It was the kind of place a vampire would be certain to frequent.

For the past few days, as Atsushi worked late, you’d scoped out the location, staring through the window into the man you’d been certain would be loitering there. His long, dark coat dragged across the stools; beautiful features schooled into a charming expression.

Every night, he sat with strangers, but none of them had been victims in the paper. They were drunkards, prostitutes, gamblers, addicts—but they remained alive, even with Dazai in their midst. He’d evaded you, time and time again. Even as you watched with a close eye, Dazai killed right under your nose.

For the eighth night in a row, Dazai was there, indulging another man in conversation. You shifted from heel to heel, staring through the foggy window as Dazai lent an ear with attuned focus. You knew he was hardly listening. His nods were practiced, his responses vague, with only a hint of interest in his tone.

You moved your focus to the other customers, though there was no one noteworthy. A few deadbeat fathers, some women searching for their next client. A teenage boy had snuck in with a few older ones, sitting in the corner smoking frivolously. It was all quite boring, really.

There was a pianist there tonight—a pretty young women with dark hair cascading down her back, cleavage spilling out the front of her cream colored dress. She had her eye on Dazai across the room, two deep brown irises blinking at him from under long lashes.

A twinge of fury pinched at you, one that you subdued, hating the unconscious reaction of your body, the way your heart squeezed from the memory of possessiveness. Women looked at him everywhere he went, and he had never tried to avoid their lingering eyes, even when his flirtatious nature bothered you.

He’d always loved to make you jealous.

Now, though, he wasn’t your problem. Who he did or didn’t pay attention to wasn’t something you were to be concerned about. He could fuck whoever he wanted, pay them if he needed, and it shouldn’t leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

You snuck in through the front door, swallowing down that unreasonable emotion and stayed small in the shadows. The man that had been chatting to Dazai left, and you took his place, tapping your nails against the counter.

It was obvious he’d been expecting you. Dazai’s gaze was already on you, his dark smile curling onto his lips. “I was wondering when you’d be brave enough to come in.”

You sat still, staring ahead at the array of liquor, as if mesmerized by the different bottles. “I didn’t think you’d noticed me,” you replied, even though you’d been counting on it.

All you wanted was for Dazai to finally explain his true intentions, instead of lingering in your city with no explanation and a wake of bodies behind him.

Dazai choked out a laugh, setting his palm on his thighs. “You didn’t think I’d notice?” he asked, his eyes wide and innocent. “I was certain this was all a ploy to get my attention.”

You said nothing, shifting in your chair as Dazai’s smile widened, blood red and dripping.

“Well, you have it now, darling,” he said, gesturing towards you, eyes scanning your body. “If that’s not what you wanted, you must take me for a fool.”

You blinked, and when you turned to face him, Dazai was impossibly close, his knees just brushing yours. “What do you mean?”

“Well, for one, you’ve been spying on me. Two, your fiancée is a detective.” Dazai tapped his nails, the sound irritating and repetitive. “And, three: you want me gone.” He hummed, tracing the edges of the counter, his finger slender and pale. “All signs are pointing to the same thing. You’ve come here to bargain.”

You stared, anger pooling within you until you suddenly remembered how poorly this meeting could end for you. He was much too close, too dangerous to be around; you struggled to contain your bloodlust around him. Dazai’s very presence was a catalyst for your most primal desire, and every second with him just made that more evident.

Meeting with him was a mistake. You needed to leave. “Dazai,” you cleared your throat, placing your hands back on your lap. “I’ve known it was you, all this time, and I never said anything.”

Predictably, that had brightened his mood. “Really?” he said, curious. A part of you preened at being able to shock Dazai. “Now why wouldn’t you?”

You shrugged, grateful that he, at the very least, was curious. “I want you gone without any chaos. I want you out of my life, and I don’t want you to cause a scene.”

The bar was smoky, crowded, and the undeniable stench of sweat and odor overwhelmed your senses. Someone in the corner had vomited. A couple was fucking mere feet away from you, clearly intoxicated, and you balked, disgusted, wondering how Dazai could stand to be in such filth.

“I won’t put myself at risk, and I won’t let you hurt Atsushi.” You held his gaze, your eyes hard, unblinking. "So I won't tell anyone."

Dazai stared back, thoughtful, like these were the last words he expected from you, that your ultimatum was completely out of the blue. “You’re willing to let innocent people die just to keep me away from your fiancée?” He leaned forward, intruding your space, and traced the back of your palm. “Interesting.”

“There’s nothing interesting about it. I’ve learned that I can’t stop you from doing what you want.” You sniffed. “I know better. Even if I told you that I wanted you to stop killing those people, you wouldn’t.”

“I’d do anything for you. You just never asked.”

“Please,” a scoff left your lips. “Spare me that kind of disappointment.”

He hummed, though it was neither a confirmation nor denial, his innocence feigned. “So that’s all you came here for, then? To threaten me into bending to your will?”

“It’s hardly a threat, Dazai. What have I got to threaten you with?” you shook your head, laughing darkly. “If you care about me at all, you’ll leave me alone. I’ll spend the rest of eternity running from you if that’s what it takes.”

“No need for such dramatics. I told you: I’ll leave once I’m certain that you’re happy here.” He looked away from you then, focusing entirely on the actions of the bartender before him. Dazai seemed as if he knew a secret, held it all to his chest with pride. “I’m not yet convinced.”

That was the kind of self-assuredness you’d expected, though it would always elicit an aghast inhale from your lips. “I’m getting married—”

“To a man who will never fully understand you.”

“I love him. That matters to me more than whatever connection you think we still have.”

One of Dazai’s dark eyebrows lifted, barely noticeable. “I won’t leave.”

“Dazai—”

“But,” he held up a finger, ceasing your arguments, “I’ll cover my tracks better. Will that satisfy you?”

Your chest lifted, then fell, and you cleared yourself of any hostility. This was the best you were going to get out of Dazai, and you knew it. “Fine.” The stool screeched as you began to climb out of it. “Then if we’re both in agreement, I think—”

You were unable to finish your sentence, the words falling from your lips as the sharp smell of blood hit you. It was almost immediate, overwhelming, and inebriating. Hunger reacted before your intelligent mind could, the baser of your instincts overpowering logic.

“Shit,” the bartender muttered as a bottle shattered, quieting the room. When you turned, a deep gash had run down on his arm, a vein split open while a dangerous amount of blood poured out. It was dark red, picturesque, staining him so beautifully with an almost smoky tint to it.

The woman who had been carrying drinks rushed over to help him, but your eyes were glued to the wound, two pointy canines slipping over your bottom teeth. Your mind quieted, nothing circulating there but the memory of the euphoric taste of warm blood, so heavenly when it came from creatures more sophisticated than rodents.

It wouldn’t matter if people saw. They were all too drunk to notice anyway. You could pretend to help him, lead him back to the alley, and then—

A hand was heavy on your wrist, pinning you down to the countertop as the world moved slower and slower around you. Then, a tug, sharp as you collapsed into Dazai, your head falling against his shoulder, far too close to the deep purple vein that strained against his neck. You licked his skin, unable to help yourself.

Dazai laughed, theatrically, patting you on the head as he stood with you still in his grasp. “You’ve had far too much to drink, my darling,” he said to no one in particular. “We should get home.”

He led you to the door, and you stumbled over your feet, keeping a hand over your mouth until the hunger subsided, until you could no longer smell the coppery scent of blood. No one batted an eye, even looked your way, unconcerned by the fact that you hadn’t seemed drunk before, nor had you ordered a drink in the first place.

The alley was empty, and the crisp night air slapped you on the cheek, bringing you back into consciousness as you shoved yourself away from Dazai, putting distance between you. You couldn’t risk latching onto his vein, and though depriving yourself of him was proving to be a difficult task, you wouldn’t let yourself stoop to such unfathomable depths again.

Silence was thick between you; Dazai didn’t speak until you had composed yourself. Your teeth slipped back into a normal position and your eyes were no longer luminescent. It was enough for you to get a solid grip on your bearings once more.

“Are we going to continue to pretend like there’s nothing wrong?” Dazai asked from behind you, his presence nothing more than a pestering fly. “You should have more control than that—”

Another minute of silence lapsed. You considered ignoring him completely.

“Now you see why I need you gone, Dazai,” you said sharply, whirling around to advance upon him. He was closer than you anticipated, and your finger dug into the center of his chest, pointed and sharp. “I can’t…” It was humiliating, really, to admit it. “I can’t control myself around you.”

His eyes flashed. First, of mockery. Then, the dark irises melted into honey, and he was sympathetic, loving. “I’ve got nothing to do with it,” he frowned, too caring, too willing to curl himself around you in a safety net. “We’re not meant to live off the blood of rats.”

You snarled, tried to push him away, but he was too strong. His hands were gentle when they grabbed your wrists, stopping you from any further assault.

“I was just fine until you came back,” you said, sniffing. "You made me into what I am, and you use that power against me."

“You weren’t fine, and we both know it.” Dazai spoke as if he knew of your life before he returned to the city. If only he’d seen how free you were without him—how much more relaxed a world without him had become. “I can help you.” His hand drifted up your arm, a thumb tracing your chin. “I want to help you.”

Drawing back, you placed enough distance between you that you could recover from his steely expression. “I’m trying to be a good person.”

“You’re not a person anymore,” he replied, almost amused. Though he didn’t touch you, you knew he longed to. Even when you told yourself that he was a terrible monster, you knew the depth of his emotions. He had once loved you with a passion you’d never known humans to be capable of. Perhaps, he still did. “You’re dead. You’re a vampire.”

“I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be like you.” The words weren’t meant to be cruel. They were factual, unfiltered, and true. There would never be a world in which you wanted to be like him, even if there had been one that you were.

His eyes were cold. “You were worse than me once. I remember it well.” He smiled, and it turned unkind, the same expression that had always confused you. How he could go from the passionate, loving man into a sadistic devil would never be something you understood. “You enjoyed it, and I loved you for it.”

“That’s the worst part of it, Osamu,” you said his name like it was poison on your tongue; it almost hurt for it to cross your lips. It had been a prayer before. Two syllables you’d vowed to never say in vain. “I shouldn’t have to become a monster for you to care.”

A cumulation of emotions crossed Dazai’s face, like he was auditioning for a role, trying to decide which expression fit best. Finally, he settled back on a neutral countenance, his jaw set, dark eyes hiding everything he refused to say. “Don’t blame this on me. I never forced you into anything. You wanted this. I’m not the one who turned you into a monster; you did that yourself.”

The silence crept up on you once more, so darkly familiar. Around you were nothing but shadows, the home you’d begun to know more than the one you’d been born into. There were so many things you’d missed out on because of the allure of Dazai’s charming smile. You’d lost people—you’d killed people—all for him.

Every time he flashed his grin at you, the one that had brought you to him in the first place, you forced yourself to remember that you’d never gained anything but pain and tragedy by being in love with Osamu Dazai.

“It seems we’ll never agree on that point.” You turned away from him, facing the dimly lit streets, the sound of carriages reverberating down the alley. A horse forced a breath of air through its nose, and you wondered if maybe, draining such a large animal would finally be enough to satiate the hunger that hadn’t left you in years. “I’ve no desire to argue it any further.”

“You never do,” Dazai said, and though your back was turned, you knew he was taunting you, his expression dark with satisfaction. “Running away is so much easier.”

You clenched your teeth, scraping the back molars together so tightly they were sure to chip. Once more, you thought of the home you had to go back to, the bed with your fiancée, the light that would threaten you in just a few hours. It was better than this—it was better than the life that Dazai had once shown you, and you’d created it all on your own.

“Good night, Osamu,” you said, walking back into the shadows, and despite your malignant thoughts, it was almost impossible to ignore just how badly you wanted to sink your teeth into him.

His response was lost to the wind as you began your journey back home, across the city, through the destitute neighborhoods, with the kinds of people that could disappear. No one would bat an eye if they were gone.

Starved and with a weakened spirit, you considered how easy it would be to end the miserable life of the drunk homeless man who was passed out on the street. How, perhaps, draining an opium idled prostitute would be doing her a favor.

The moment passed quickly. Atsushi’s kind eyes always brought you back. How horrified they would turn if you crawled into bed that night with the blood of a human as a stain for your lips. It would be so opposite to the way that Dazai would react. He’d be too disgustingly pleased by your fall from grace.

Instead, you settled on a dog, its eyes far too innocent for your demonic instincts. Somehow, it felt worse than killing a human. It had never done a thing to deserve such a life of suffering.

The blood did little to appease you. Miserable, and still hungry, you headed back, feeling no better than before. Atsushi would be long asleep by now, deep in a dream after so many days of exhaustion, and you would be alone with nothing but old memories and the question of what would happen in the future.

Your neighbors were shouting when you walked up to the house. The dark-haired woman waved a hand dramatically as she shoved her husband onto the street. It was nothing you hadn’t seen before. They would argue, he would leave, probably get drunk, sleep with another woman, and come traipsing back home like they’d never fought at all.

She’d accept him, of course, because she loved him. She always would; and somewhere, in his lousy heart, he loved her too. It was a miserable tragedy. You didn’t know her well, but you were certain any woman deserved better than that swine of a husband.

When she met your eye, you smiled sympathetically, hoping your face wasn’t covered in the dark fur of the hound, your teeth smeared with iron. Despite your kindness, she only scowled back, slammed the door on the fool of a man, and crept back into her home.

As you let yourself into your own apartment, you realized how thankful you were that none of your neighbors were observant—they were all too distracted by their own troubles to care about yours. Never once had you seen any of them outside of sundown, but they didn't seem to care. Perhaps, your odd lifestyle wasn’t as suspicious to strangers as you thought.

You supposed that it made sense, even if it seemed too difficult to comprehend. Back when you'd met Dazai, you’d never guessed that there had been anything off about him.

A frustrated exhale left you, and you shook off your thoughts. It didn’t matter, so long as they didn’t cause you trouble.

Upon entering the apartment, your bloodlust doubled, hunger back in full force at the scent of Atsushi’s comforting aroma. He smelled almost as good as Dazai; the blood was saccharine, such a perfect blend of everything that Atsushi was.

You could ignore the scent—usually. There was always something to outweigh it. Atsushi burned candles, left out garlic. He jarred the strongest spices and set them in every room. When you were really desperate, he let animals rot on the porch, hoping the disturbingly strong smell of death was enough to distract you.

It almost always was.

As you latched the door to your bedroom, undressed, you realized you had none of those things to protect you now. The memory of the bar remained at the forefront of your mind. The bartender’s large cut, Dazai’s vein just inches away from your neck, the ache in your body that would never be appeased by an unconventional diet.

It was painfully hard to resist. You couldn’t take your eyes off Atsushi’s peaceful form, his eyelids fluttering softly, light eyelashes fanning against his cheeks. Under the blankets, you could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, reliable, unyielding, pumping him full of the very life you were someday going to take away from him.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to recover your composure, remind yourself that this was Atsushi. You couldn’t take advantage of him, and you wouldn’t, but somehow, you’d climbed into the bed.

You were on top of him, your legs on either side of his waist, a position that was familiar, but not like this. He shifted, grumbling in his sleep, and though the alarms were ringing in your head, your fangs were borne, and you bent down over his neck.

You were so hungry. Just a taste, that would be all. It would be enough to fulfill your desire for human blood, and you’d go back to being the perfect saint, the one you’d sworn yourself to becoming.

A hand was on your hips when you kissed his neck, tight and confused. “Honey?” Atsushi’s voice brought you back to reality, raspy with sleep. “What are you doing?”

For a moment, red-hot anger swirled through you before you realized that you were grateful for his interruption, and you’d almost done something you’d regret immensely. The irritation was gone, and you were sick, horrified, flying off of Atsushi before he could say another word.

“I’m sorry—” you said, choking on your words as you cowered in the corner of the room, biting down on your fist. Blood flooded your lips, but it tasted stale, like dead animals that had marinated and rotted in a muggy summer sun. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...” you trailed off, looking away from him, the thrum of his heart too distracting. “I’m sorry.”

Atsushi was quiet, breathing steadily, in and out like an anthem. Then, he padded over, feet soft against the floor. Close enough to touch you, but never quite getting there. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” you shrieked, recoiling, putting enough distance between you that you couldn’t reach him. “Don’t come any closer.”

He didn’t move, though you knew he wanted to, and the wheels in his mind spun desperately for a solution, looking towards the higher beings that he still believed in. “I want to help you.”

“You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t want that at all.” It struck you, then, that you’d been ignoring the gravity of the situation. The fact that at any moment, you could lose the thin thread of control that you’d never really grasped at all. “I’m a vampire. I’m a monster.”

“You’re not,” Atsushi argued, his voice so incredibly soft, even though he’d never known the true horrors you’d committed, your violent acts that had destroyed cities and ruined families.

His foot moved closer, and you bared your fangs, menacingly, as if to show him that another step could put his life in danger. Though, he was unfazed, not a single muscle in his features twitching. “Tell me what I can do.”

“Get away, Atsushi.” You were pleading with him now, eyes sad as you covered your mouth once again. Perhaps this was a mistake. You never should’ve let yourself fall in love with him. He deserved so much better than the eternal pain that you succumbed to. He wouldn’t survive a life as a vampire if it depleted his humanity. “Please.”

“If you need,” he said, pulling down the collar of his shirt, ignoring your cries with a frown. “You can—”

“No!” you shouted, much louder than you meant, and Atsushi stumbled back, for once, startled by your outburst. “I’ll kill you. I—” You stopped, swallowed. There was so little you’d told Atsushi about your past, your past with Dazai, that it seemed shameful to admit it now. “I won’t be able to control myself. I’ve never been able to stop once I start drinking from a human.”

Atsushi blinked, his mouth forming words that almost didn’t come out. You’d never told him that before. It made you seem much more dangerous, the reality of what you were more obvious than ever. “You killed someone every time?”

“No.” You couldn’t look at his blank eyes, unsure if he was curious or filled with contempt. Perhaps it was a mixture of both. “I was with another vampire. He stopped me when I went too far. Most of the time.”

“But… you did kill?” Atsushi asked, uncaring about the elusive figure from your past. Someday, you’d tell him everything. It just wouldn’t be now.

You sighed, your gaze hard on the bouquet of roses beside the bed, a few of them already wilting. Something about the vision was incredibly foreboding, like your rampant thoughts about Dazai would continue to lead to deplorable actions, just as one beautiful rose would die after the other, until your relationship with Atsushi was strained and fragmented.

“You know I did, Atsushi.”

The silence was sharp, unbearable. You longed to hear any sound other than his shallow breaths and aching heartbeat. “It’s hard to imagine you that way.”

You met his eyes once more. They were naively kind, like any fearsome action you’d committed could be forgiven because your heart had been cleansed, scrubbed raw of all your previous sins. “Perhaps, but that’s how I was.” You smiled sadly, twisting a finger in your hair. “There’s still a chance for you to run away from me.”

Atsushi shook his head, his eyes wrinkled in the corners, the moonlight glinting off his bright pupils. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m foolishly in love with you and I can’t help it.” Despite yourself, you melted, the hunger overpowered by a pure love for the kind soul before you. “I’ll sleep in the other room for tonight.”

“Atsushi—”

You protested, but Atsushi leaned forward, kissing you deeply, with finality. “No, you need this room,” he said, pulling away before your body could even comprehend his proximity. “I can’t ask you to be around me if you’re suffering.”

“I’ll be okay,” you promised, eyes despondent as you watched him retreat into the living room.

Though when he turned around, hand lingering on the doorknob, you both knew that that wasn’t true.

You didn’t sleep for the rest of the day, and locked in a room with no light, there was nothing for you to do but watch the single beam of sun flick under the door. Bright yellow rays taunted you, and you missed the heat with every fiber of your being, like a friend you would never reconnect with again.

Staring, eyes empty and hollow, you rested against the pillow and resolved yourself to a decision that could prove to be a mistake. You had no other choice but to find other ways of satisfying your hunger, and while it certainly wasn’t optimal, you reminded yourself that your future husband was the most important person in your life. If this would save Atsushi from your malevolent impulses, you would gladly go back to the devil and sell your soul another time.

Atsushi came home that evening at the same time as usual, just as tired, but not without a gentle smile. He was strong, and he was kind. You hoped that even as a vampire, he wouldn’t have the same urge to kill that you always had.

That fact alone made you ache with adoration for him, the innocence that he’d always been able to keep, through every struggle that he endured and continued to face. He was a good person, and you couldn’t imagine a world where he didn’t stay that way.

Though you rarely slept through the day as normal, you often grew tired of the same routine. By the time the sun had gone, you were itching to leave the house, and kissed Atsushi briefly before rushing out the door.

You couldn’t linger close to him for long, for a starved and weary vampire was no match for a human, even one as physically capable as Atsushi.

Once you’d ejected yourself into the bustling evening, you sped through the crowd, trying not to focus on a single person’s heartbeat. If you lingered too long, you were certain it’d become too much for you, the taste already infiltrating your consciousness, the desire of another person to make themselves a part of you too.

Humans were naturally drawn to vampires, your looks otherworldly and appearance so mystifying that it was hard to resist. That made it all too easy to steal prey away, feast on them until there was nothing left but a hollowed-out corpse.

A headache had begun in your temple, the tell-tale sign of your desperation. Finally, you reached the beaten-down pub, no livelier than the previous nights, and more calmly than you felt, let yourself in through the door.

As suspected, Dazai was back at the bar, the usual glass of liquor in front of him, even if only sipped. The effects of alcohol only worked on vampires if ingested through the blood of an intoxicated human, and you couldn’t remember the last time he’d let himself indulge in that.

Dazai was alone, this time, but the pianist from the previous night still eyed him, ironically, like he was her very own prey. He was smiling softly to himself, already aware of your presence as he rolled the glass around in his slender fingers. The ice clinked against the sides, an unceasing rhythm.

Steadying yourself, you pushed away the warm smell of his blood, how deeply you craved it, the underlying affection there. Instead, you steeled yourself for conversation, stole some sort of inhale, and took a seat.

Dazai’s sharp features were on you the moment you were within his orbit, pink lips curling up with satisfaction. “I thought you didn’t want to see me,” he said, leaning towards you, his expression unguarded and curious. “This makes two nights in a row.”

You opened your mouth, then shut it, flushing with shame. To admit that you needed him was foolish and humiliating. You’d let him win at his own game, and as hard as you’d thought, you couldn’t come up with another solution.

This was for Atsushi’s sake, you reminded yourself, and you were no longer sure that the solution to your bloodlust would be remedied with Dazai’s exit from the city. Your hunger had been festering for centuries, and spending all of your time with a human had weakened you, leaving you incapable of resisting such a small drink.

If you continued on this path, you’d kill him. That was something you’d never be able to live with.

Dazai continued to watch you, tilting his head as if deciphering your thoughts as they gathered in your mind. “What’s the matter?” he asked, and you realized your panic was just as evident on your face, the sick conflict of need and disgust clashing against one another.

Your mouth was sour, tasting like whatever kind of acids lingered within you as a vampire. You forced the words out before you could regret them. “I need it, Dazai.”

Dazai blinked and was silent for a mere moment before he laughed loudly. The sound was mocking and cruel, and far too obnoxious in the miniscule space. “How ironic,” he said, leaning back on his stool. “Just yesterday, you wanted me to leave, and now you’ve come crawling back, so beautifully desperate.”

Your skin burned, and you refused to look at him, disgraced and remorseful. There were two options: leave and see if he took the bait or plead with him and risk more embarrassment. One seemed better than the other.

Standing, you took the former, hoping that Dazai was telling the truth about his affection for you. If he really cared as much for you as he once had, then maybe, he would crave the high of sharing blood. A vampire as old as him wouldn’t open his vein for just anyone.

“I still want you to leave. I just thought, perhaps, we could talk about this like we’d once been lovers instead of enemies.”

Dazai stared, knowing that you were manipulating him, but trying to decide if he cared. “What a silly thing to say,” he smiled, eyes raking over your body like it pained him to do so. “I’ve never been your enemy, sweetheart.”

Maybe not, but there seemed no other word to describe the animosity you felt for him. The stool screeched as you pushed it away from the counter, making your way to your feet. “It was a mistake to ask you this.” You held his gaze one last time, waiting for him to decipher whatever message you thought you were sending. “I’m leaving.”

He stopped you, a hand on your wrist as he licked his lips. There was a softness to his features, the hard lines of mockery bleeding into sympathy. “I’ll go with you.”

You glared for a moment longer before, finally, you shook him off and went outside. Dazai trailed behind you in the shadows like a cat, and you wondered if he’d been fated for this all along. Perhaps he’d been born only for an immortal existence; a human life was never in the cards at all.

It was a foggy night. The feet ahead of you blurred into nothingness, and Dazai stood close to you, just to be able to see your features clearly. The smell of him drove you near the brink of insanity, and without thinking, you let your fangs slip down over red lips, face falling at the acknowledgement of your aching need for him.

Dazai smiled.

“What changed your mind?” he asked, staring at you like he’d never seen you before, beautiful, and dangerous and once his.

You debated telling him. Dazai didn’t deserve your honesty, but it would be much easier to put this behind you, pretend that your reasons were entirely heroic, if you told him outright. One way or another, he would uncover the truth.

“I almost drank from Atsushi,” you said, looking at anything but his knowing brown eyes, the ones that had never been able to hide his adoration for you. “I would’ve killed him.” Your teeth were sore, and your jaw clenched with the insatiable hunger that never seemed to ease. The blood of animals was no more nutritious to you than candy was to a human. It made you feel bogged down, weary, and so much weaker than you wanted to be.

“You still don’t have any control.” Dazai’s eyebrows drew together, so tightly that his face marred into something akin to anger. It was a statement, not a question. One you were senseless enough to answer.

“No.”

“That’s why you haven’t turned him. Not because he doesn’t want to be turned, but because you know you’ll kill him.”

“Yes.” You hated being so known by Dazai, but you were liberated by it at the same time. Never once were you forced to pretend with him, and though that had sometimes been a blessing, it wouldn’t allow you to slip anything past him either.

Dazai was inches away from you in an instant, his speed otherworldly and graceful. There was a slight flush to his skin—he’d fed recently. Had he spared their life, or would another death make the headlines? “Why do you continue to punish yourself?” he asked, thumb grazing across your cheek. “Is killing so different from humans slaughtering animals?”

Disgusted, you tried to push him away, but the smell of his skin, his blood, was too appetizing to pass up. Instead, you let his hand remain on your cheek, nuzzled it even further, and frowned. “You know it is. You’ve known for centuries, and you delude yourself into thinking it’s not.”

Dazai sighed, but a weary smiled pulled onto his lips, satisfied that you’d not run away from him. “Perhaps,” he said, unbuttoning the collar of his pressed shirt, exposing the smoothness of his neck. You traced the skin, mesmerized, all at once, by his centuries of existence. “Perhaps I just don’t care.”

You swallowed, unable to remove your eyes from the vein, your hunger flourishing and expanding into something all its own. You indulged yourself in the moment of bloodlust, let yourself feel every moment of desire, so when you finally tasted his blood, it would be that much sweeter.

“But I care,” you admitted, mind hazy with need. “You’ve spoiled me, Osamu. Your blood is better than anything I’ve ever tasted.” The words were outside your lips before you could stop them, unretractable, but true, nonetheless. “Everything pales in comparison.”

He exhaled, and you were surprised to find that it was stuttered, breathless from your proximity. You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes, tilting his jaw away.

“And your fiancé?” Dazai asked, kissing the thumb that rested on his chin, his voice deepening, almost dangerous. “Will his blood satisfy you when he’s all you have?”

You opened your eyes, contemplative. “I don’t know,” you answered truthfully. “How can anyone compare to the vampire that made me?”

“They can’t.” Dazai laughed, and then he tipped his head, exposing the vein completely with a hazy grin. “Drink, my sweet angel.”

It was a request that you couldn’t refuse. You were upon him, tearing at the flesh like an uncontrollable beast, inhaling the blood with the need of a starved man.

The taste of him was heavenly, otherworldly. It was a drink bestowed upon you by the devil, luring you into a life of sin with something you couldn’t resist. That’s what Dazai was, of course. He was something that you, in all of your strength, were far too tempted by.

Dazai’s fingers curled into your back as you lapped at the vein, bringing yourself closer and closer to him until you were pressed so completely against him. His body was cold and hot all at the same time, like a burn, dangerous and compelling.

Too distracted by your own hunger, you hardly registered his sharp moan, loud and distracting in the alley. “Taste so good, Osamu,” you said against his neck, barely a whisper before you dived in again, curling your sharp nails into his shoulders.

Dazai made a sound in the back of his throat, and then his hands were in your hair, rough and forceful as he pressed you closer towards the delicate skin under his jaw. You smiled, full of lust and desire and the lingering scent of his blood.

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice was faraway, hushed by the roaring of the ocean in your ears as you focused on indulging yourself completely. “I’ve missed you more than I want to admit.”

The last statement was not meant for your ears, but you heard it all the same, and you preened from the praise that came so sparingly. Fisting your hands tighter in his collar, you sunk your teeth deeper, mouth pressed against his skin delicately, a kiss more than a bite.

If anyone had walked into the pathway, it would’ve seemed like nothing more than a loving embrace, not the threat of murder, two vampiric beings caught in a dance of death within the moonlight.

You stumbled forward, trying to crawl deeper within him, but there was nowhere to go, and Dazai hit a streetlight with a quiet laugh, curling his fingers against your scalp. “You’ll make yourself sick if you keep going,” he said, but he let you carry on for another minute, until his skin had grown impossibly pale, and he staggered with light-headedness, drained and once again, starving.

“Okay.” Dazai’s blood squelched salaciously around your lips, and he finally stopped you, disappointed. “That’s enough, my love.”

Although you heard him, you were unable to pull yourself away, and the sweet liquid from his vein continued to pour into your lips.

Dazai tugged you back by the neck, sharply, ripping his skin open wide in the process. He was stronger than you—older and wiser and much more powerful, but a part of him always let you take from him. For better or worse, Osamu Dazai had never been able to deny you your simple requests. “Enough.”

“Sorry,” you said, licking the last droplets of blood from your lips, blinking into eyes that were full of affection and pride.

“Don’t apologize. I’d give you more if I could.” Dazai smiled, the blood loss weakening him just enough to look sentimental. “How do you feel now?”

Your cheeks grew hot, and you felt the effects of his blood taking hold, intoxicating, and stupefying. You’d forgotten how much it was like a drug, an addiction that you’d spent years of your life living off of.

It hadn’t been so harmful, then. Only an aphrodisiac that paired nicely with your unconditional love for him. Now, you felt that you were playing a dangerous game. You risked a lot of things by letting yourself remember him.

“Less hungry,” you admitted, frowning, unsure how you could possibly walk away from him with an appetite still rampant, if only subdued. In the years away from him, you’d undeniably weakened. It was as if now, it was catching up to you at once, your immortal body trying to compensate with proper nourishment. “Stronger.”

This wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go. Your mind was telling you to seal your lips shut and walk away, leaving Dazai where he was without so much as an explanation. You should kill him, end him—whatever it took to live a long and happy eternity with a man who truly deserved your undying affection.

Though, when those brown eyes softened, two pools of melted chocolate, you knew why you had loved him so deeply. “I’m glad.” He was gentle as he caressed your skin, your fragile collarbone, every touch a sin.

I miss…

You ceased your thoughts, looking back at him, at the affection that mixed in with years of malice and vindictiveness. A perfect summation of every day that you’d loved him.

He’d never looked at anyone like that before, had he? Like the entire world was a blur around him except for the beautiful work of art that stood in front of him. At least, not the fleeting affairs he’d had with artists, nor the women he’d fled to when you argued over nonsense.

Had he even looked at you like that before?

With years and years of built-up hatred, it was, truly, hard to remember. So hard, in fact, that you weren’t quite sure what it was about him that you’d been missing.

“It’s near sunrise,” Dazai said, like the fact wasn’t painfully obvious. You could see the beginnings of a glow beyond the horizon. “Do you need a place to stay?”

Whether that was a caring invitation or manipulation tactic, you couldn’t be sure. What you did know was that you needed to get away from him before you did something mindless—something you wouldn’t otherwise do if you weren’t dopey from his blood.

“I’ll manage,” you choked out, grateful only when his wound closed, and you could release your inhale once again. “Don’t worry.”

He seemed hesitant, looking around like there was a creature more dangerous than you lurking in the night. “I’ll walk with you.”

“Osamu, I’m fine.” You went for a softer approach, knowing that he’d be unable to deny the subtle blink of your lashes, the seductive smile that plastered your painted lips. “Thank you.”

He nodded, smiled, and then took your hand within his own, kissing the back of it chastely, like you were courting for the first time. As if you hadn’t once had him deep inside you, hadn’t shared every ounce of blood from your vein, your life reborn from the very taste of him.

It was a moment doomed to expire once you were reminded that you had moved on. This wasn’t the person you were supposed to be anymore.

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” he said. “If you need me.”

Regretfully, you squeezed his hand, knowing that you would.

PART III

tag list: @cerberels @thateldribitch @hauntedsol @hannzai @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @sukiischaotic @hinata7346 @scinclaitnoir @mimimimiminanana @yolkyuyi @xxoolii @zephoncocaine @sookisaurus @angelsdemonsandhumans @kouyoumarryme @avocate-assia-dazai @mort-froggoo @fyodorisbbg @iluv-ace@kemis-world @pe4rl-diver @lacunaanonymoused

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luveline · 2 years

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dad!steve and your little son wants to paint his nails like the girl in his class and steve is all for it and very supportive and sweet<3<3<3

ty for ur request ♡ mom!reader | 0.7k words

"I have a question," your son says.

You're instantly charmed. "What's your question, short-stack?"

He climbs onto the sofa next to you and slouches down. You grin at him. He looks so much like Steve these days, it's impossible not to see it.

"Maisy M in my class," he says, though you know very well who Maisy is, "she came into school today and all her nails were different colours."

"She must've had her mom paint them."

"With paint?"

"With nail polish."

He looks happy at this new information, falling into your lap with a sweet harrumph.

Steve appears in the doorway with a drink that you'd planned on sharing, though as soon as your son lays eyes on it he's holding out his hands.

"Little monster," you say.

"Handsome little monster," Steve corrects, sitting down beside a pair of too long legs. "Jeez, kid, what is this now? Growth spurt five? Six?"

After mauling your drink with backwash, your son sucks in a big breath and declares, "I want to paint my nails like Maisy M."

You smile at him, but it's a guarded thing. Whether you think it's okay or not – and it is, of course it is – painting your nails as a boy is the kind of thing that'll get him made fun of. It sucks but it's true. You meet Steve's eyes over a small head of dark hair, unsure.

Steve grins at you. "What colour?" he asks.

"All of them!"

"Why don't you go get your mom's make-up bag? The pink one with the hearts on her vanity?"

He grins and you take the drink out of his hands so he can scramble off of the couch and start up the stairs, a riot of footsteps overhead.

"Steve…"

"I know." Steve tilts his head toward his shoulder apologetically. "I know, sorry. But he's gonna look so cute."

"The other kids-"

"Are losers if they say anything."

"Their parents."

Steve pulls your arm toward him and starts to draw lines, the kind that'll have you dozing against his shoulder if you aren't careful. "Me and Mindy are tight. If they say something, I'll fuck them up."

"Your friendship with the head of the PTA might not be enough to fix it. You know… this is the kind of thing that could- could alienate him, Stevie."

"If a few coats of nail polish are enough to do that, maybe he's better off." He softens. "I know. Just… should we really stop him from doing what he wants to because other people think it's bad?"

You lean against the cushions and frown. "No, of course not."

He leans against it too, the both of you eye to eye. You know every detail, every eyelash and every beauty mark, but sometimes you look at him and it's all brand new. He's got a formidable twist to his brows, planning. "If anyone tries anything, me and Mindy'll put 'em on cupcake duty at the bake sale."

"Not cupcake duty." You laugh.

"Butterfly cupcakes, too. With homemade buttercream."

A makeup bag thrown into Steve's lap breaks your joking, a terrible clinking of fragile glass.

"I want purple, and green, and red, and lellow-"

"Yellow," you correct your son gently.

"Yellow, that's what I said."

He's so much like his dad you could cry.

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington drabble #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things

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laurasblogs-stuff · 12 days

Text

TOLERATE IT

(Peeta’s version)

In loving memory of this song being removed from The Eras Tour set list, I'm publishing this little thing I just finished to write. It is technically set after the 74th Hunger Games and during the victory tour, and from Peeta's point of view. Let me know what you think about it, be kind because it's the first time that i write something not in my first language :)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

I sit and watch you reading with your head low

We’re in the living room.

I don’t even know why I came here, I just wanted to bring your family bread, but I should have said no when Prim asked me to stay for dinner.

It isn’t right to have dinner with your family and forcing you to see me when you don’t have to.

Well, I guess it won’t be a problem, you barely lifted your head when I walked in.

You looked at me behind the book you’re pretending to read for half a second, you couldn’t manage to hold the eye contact even while mumbling ‘hi’.

Now I’m sitting on the opposite side of the couch; you’re just staring at the book in your hands and it’s so obvious that you would want to be anywhere but here right now.

I feel like throwing up.

I should have said no.

I wake and watch you breathing with your eyes closed

I take in a breath so violently that it seems like I was drowning.

I was, in my dream at least. I was underwater, I couldn’t breathe or speak, but the water was so clear that I could see you being mauled by mutts near the lake in the arena. I was trying to scream so hard, to distract them from you, but nothing came out.

I try to not let the tears that are flooding my eyes fall, attempt to adjust my respiration but managing to take just some shaky pathetic breaths.

I feel a weight on my chest: looking down I realize that is your head.

You’re sleeping so peacefully, and I realize you didn’t wake up this night yet.

The thought that I can help you do that makes me want to cry.

Instead, I try to focus on your steady breaths, on your hand that is slowly and involuntarily caressing my rib and on the little smile that is forming on your face.

I sit and watch you

And notice everything you do or don't do

You're so much older and wiser and I

We’re in district three. The last stop at the Capitol is getting closer and tonight you’ve barely eaten anything. I’m watching you dissecting your duck, without even faking to stab it with the fork. Considering that you would never waste food, it is very concerning.

I tentatively tap your knee, thinking I can comfort you, but you shove my hand away.

A fat man with green hair engages me in a conversation and I try to contain my tears while he’s going on about how cute we are together.

Half an hour later, I’m standing in a corner with some red wine in my right hand when I feel a tentative touch on my left wrist.

“Can we sneak out?”

I should say no, I should be mad at you for shutting me out earlier.

I’m resolute to do so, but then I look into your eyes and see pure desperation.

I’m taking too much time to answer, you’ve noticed I’m struggling, and I can see that your bottom lip is starting to tremble, even if slightly.

You’re slowly retracting your hand from my wrist and I really should say no, because I know what sneaking out means with you.

Instead, I grab your hand and lead you away from the crowd.

I wait by the door like I'm just a kid

I feel so stupid waiting here. You always make me wait, don’t you?

Maybe it’s because you know that you will always find me right here.

I know that tonight wasn’t easy for you, we’re just one day away from the Capitol and I shouldn’t blame you for how you’re treating me.

I take a glance at my watch and notice it’s almost midnight.

I feel like that time I was five, maybe four, waiting outside my mother’s room to give her a drawing. I hoped that would make her forgive me for not being able to carry the pans. I remember standing there for hours, with the piece of paper in my right hand and a burning cheek; she never opened the door.

Just as I’m starting to feel my eyes burning, probably because of the lack of sleep, I can hear your footsteps approaching the door.

Use my best colors for your portrait

I know you hate them.

I saw that in your eyes when I showed you my paintings.

I know it was mostly because they reminded you of the arena and your nightmares, but I can say almost for sure that you were not happy about the fact that you were in almost all of them.

I’m perfectly aware that you would hate what I’m working on right now, and I promised myself to never let you see it.

But I can’t help searching for the best colors to use for your hair, trying to imagine what they would look like outside, in the sun.

What colors your eyes would have if you smiled at me as if you really meant it.

Lay the table with the fancy shit

And watch you tolerate it

I’m really trying to make this dinner pleasant for you, I really am.

I know that you hate all of this: this enormous table, the stupid pink cloth on top of it, the unnecessary gold cutlery.

You’re clenching your fist around the knife while some lady with blue hair is explaining to me how they make jewelry here, and I’m listening along just so she won’t bother you.

She’s quite old, and she’s insistent while making me feel her necklace that is sitting just a little too low on her exposed cleavage.

I’m assuming that you’re not even aware of what’s happening when you let the gleaming knife drop on the plate.

The blue haired woman immediately drops my hand while directing her stunned look towards the source of disturbance, but you’re already standing up and dragging me with you on the dancefloor.

While we’re swinging on some soft notes, I brush your hair to the side and put my mouth close to your ear.

“What was that earlier? If you wanted to dance, you could just go.”

My tone is playful, but your expression isn’t when you look up at me. It’s clear that you’re hesitant about what to say, and your cheeks start to veer toward a light red while your brain is searching for the right words to use.

I begin to think that it decided to use no words at all, when I feel your hand slightly brushing my hair before answering me.

“I wanted you just for me.”

I feel the words tickle my neck, and they seem to give me a little more air to breath.

You look up at me just for a millisecond before diverting your eyes again.

“At least for a little while.”

#I'm so sad she removed this song #but i hope you enjoyed reading this!#everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #hunger games #thg #thg series #everlark fanfiction #tolerate it #taylor swift eras #taylor swift #the eras tour #evermore #no beta #i don't even know what a beta does exactly

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thefrogdalorian · 5 months

Text

Dincember Day 12: Warmth

Word Count: 5182 Rating: General Summary: After you find yourself caught up in a rainstorm that drenches you to the bone on the forest planet you call home, an unexpectedly kind Mandalorian helps you to get warm again. Content Warnings: None! Author's Note: I honestly do not know what happened today, this spiralled out of control into something more than I expected lol. I just wanted a Din meet-cute and a little cuddling for warmth... over 5k words later here we are. It was like I was POSSESSED and just had to get this one out of me. But I really enjoyed it and I honestly might come back to this in the future, could definitely see this being the start of a longer fic. So if you enjoyed it and would maybe like to see that please let me know!

Link to read on AO3 | My Dincember Masterlist

There was always a distinctive feeling in the air just before a rainstorm hit. It was as though, for a brief moment before the chaos, tranquillity prevailed. As you walked along the vine-covered path, you felt your stomach drop as you noticed the telltale signs. The temperature had dropped; the leaves swayed ominously. You had lived on this planet long enough to be aware of all the warning signs of an impending storm, so the second you saw the grey clouds roll in over the tall tops of the lush trees on the forest planet you called home, you kicked yourself for leaving your cabin in such a hurry, without even your coat for warmth or protection from the rain.

Before you could react to make a move and seek out shelter, the heavens opened and all hell broke loose. You were suddenly assaulted by freezing cold droplets of water that pelted down with such ferocity that they almost felt like bullets. It was relentless. The water seemed was everywhere, clouding your vision and distorting your senses. It was impossible to see or breathe properly as the brutal beads of water pummelled you unforgivingly. You decided that the best thing to do was run to the side of the path and throw your back against a tree trunk in order to get some shelter from the leaves high above. You stood there for a few moments, catching your breath as you cursed yourself for being so ill-equipped to deal with the planet's climate that you knew painfully well. This was the kind of thing that happened to the tourists who came to the forests of this planet for hiking trips, not a local like you who had been stuck on this backwater skughole for your entire life.

Eventually, the rain finally ceased; the storm clouds parted. You breathed a deep sigh of relief. But the damage was done. Now, you were painfully aware of how overwhelmingly cold you were. Your teeth chattered as you stood there, drawing your arms around yourself in a pathetic attempt to garner some semblance of warmth and comfort.

The errands you had intended to run when you set out from your cabin were now long forgotten. You just wanted to return home and soak yourself in a scalding hot bath. But things would not be that straightforward. Now that the rain had left, the dark clouds had been replaced by the equally dark night that was beginning to creep in as the sky darkened. You groaned. You had only intended to leave the cabin briefly to pick up some supplies from a settlement a short distance away. Conditions were fine when you set off and you believed there would be no storm today. How wrong you had been.

You sighed and tried to focus your mind. Was there any chance of encountering any civilization nearby so that you could at least improve your odds of getting back safely and not get mauled by the various terrifying beasts that called this remote forest planet home after darkness descended? Then you remembered the small camp of various sized huts that weren’t too far away. The camp lay in the opposite direction to your home, but it was worth the slight detour if you were to make it back safely.

So you turned your back to the direction of your cabin and began walking towards the camp. You knew your best bet now was the small settlement of huts ahead. Hopefully someone staying there would take pity on you and give you a torch so that you could light your way back to the warmth and sanctuary of your cabin.

As you got closer to the clearing that the camp was located in, you noticed that all the lights in the cabins seemed to be extinguished. Your heart dropped, there was no one here. It was the rainy season after all, a time of year when there were fewer tourists visiting. You were about to turn and leave, utterly dejected and worrying how in Maker’s name you would make it home. But then you remembered there was one final row of huts in the trees. They were slightly more secluded, lying just behind some trees that separated them from the clearing where the main camp was.

It appeared that they were all vacant too. You had almost lost all hope, but then something glinted in the corner of your eye from the farthest hut. It caused you to stop in your tracks as your frazzled, frozen brain struggled to piece together what it was that you were seeing. The gleaming silhouette in the entryway did not look like it was human. You briefly wondered whether it was a large droid. But as you got closer, you realised that it was no droid at all.

You noticed a man clad in impressive shiny armour leaning against the door frame, his helmet inclined towards you as though he was watching you intently. There was something about knowing that his gaze was probably fixed on you that made you feel slightly lightheaded. It was ridiculous because you were unable to see his eyes behind the T-visor. Yet somehow, you just knew that his eyes were trained on you.

You were intrigued by this figure in the cabin. He was definitely not the kind of visitor that you usually saw come to this planet. You walked closer towards him; it was as though something was drawing you to him, an imperceptible force carrying you towards this curious man. It went against all your instincts. You had to be tough to survive on this planet and wandering towards the cabin of random men was a surefire way to meet a grisly end. Whoever this man was, he was intimidating behind all that armour. Plus, you were in a secluded spot where he could easily do you harm if he so wished. There would be no one around to hear. But if you did not find warmth and a torch, you were as good as dead anyway.

As you approached the towering figure who loomed in the doorframe of the cabin, you noticed how the warm orange glow presumably coming from a lit fire in the cabin was illuminating his armour. When you were a few steps away, the man pushed himself up off the door, as though he was standing to attention and sensing danger from you. You suddenly felt awfully intrusive. But then the man nodded at you, as if he was inviting you to address him. So you did.

“S-sorry to bother you,” You said timidly, your teeth chattering as you struggled to speak through the cold. You suddenly felt incredibly awkward. “I got caught in the rai-rainstorm and I was wo-wondering whether I c-c-could maybe dry off-ff a little and bo-borrow a torch, if y-you have one, before I head back to my ca-cabin.""

The man stood there for a few seconds, clenching and unclenching his fists as though he was considering your words. Then he spoke, and you were stunned by how gravelly and deep his voice was. “The rain was pretty intense,” He nodded. “You can come inside to get warm, if you’d like.”

All logic told you that this was going to end terribly. That perhaps, entering the cabin of a random stranger – a Mandalorian no less, the formidable, deadly warrior race – was not the smartest thing to do. But desperation breeds carelessness. And there was something so about his voice, a certain warmth to it despite his steely exterior that made you want to follow him anywhere he asked.

When you stepped across the threshold and entered the cabin, your fears of meeting your doom were instantly allayed. You could tell that this man was going to be no threat because there was a child playing on the rug by the fire of the simple, one room cabin. It was a fascinating creature, quite unlike anything you had ever seen before. You were curious about what a Mandalorian was doing with a little one like that. Was it his son? A pet?

“Take a seat by the fire, I’m sure it will warm you up in no time,” The man offered, gesturing towards the fire that burned in the stone fireplace. “I can get you some dry clothes.”

You did as he said and sat on the rug, close to the fire, next to the child who had stopped playing with its wooden blocks and was looking at you curiously, its little head tilted to the side as if wondering what this sudden intrusion into their cabin was. You smiled at the child, hoping to diffuse the tension of the situation with the little one while you waited for the Mandalorian to return with the change of clothes he had promised you.

“I don’t know if they’re the correct size for you but I hope they fit,” The Mandalorian said as he returned with a set of warm, dry clothes. You had never been more grateful to see such a simple pair of cotton trousers and shirt in your life. “You can, uh, change in the fresher, if you’d like.”

You nodded in gratitude and walked to the fresher. The cabin was one room with a small kitchen and table, a couch facing the fire and a bed in the corner. So the fresher really was the only place you would get any privacy. You found that peeling your soaked clothes off your body and replacing them with the thin cotton garments instantly made a difference and your teeth stopped chattering.

You walked back into the main room and saw how the Mandalorian was now standing by the fire, holding the little green child in his arms and rocking him softly. You stood there awkwardly, feeling as though you had clearly intruded into an intimate moment. It was also abundantly clear to you now that the child was related to The Mandlaorian. You wondered if he looked the same underneath all that armour, whether he too had green leathery skin like the child.

The Mandalorian brought a gloved finger to his lips and continued to rock the child, commanding you to stay quiet. It was a directive you followed as you stood there, still trembling slightly after the loss of the warm fire. The Mandalorian rocked the child for a few more moments, but you noticed the way his helmet kept lingering in your direction. Several times, he shook his head after looking at you and looked in the opposite direction, as though trying to forget that you were there.

You remained fixed to the spot until he placed the child into a crib. You watched as he brought a gloved hand down to caress his forehead gently. You felt warmth pool deep in your chest at watching this warrior, who so many would probably be terrified by at first glance, make such a tender gesture towards such a tiny, helpless being. Your preconceived notions about him had been entirely wrong.

Then, the Mandalorian gestured towards the fire as if inviting you to sit down once again. You padded back across the cabin gratefully and took a spot on the rug by the fire, reaching your hands out over the fire to warm a part of your body that had not yet warmed up after the terrible rainstorm.

“Can I get you something to eat?” The Mandalorian asked, you were stunned by his hospitality and the care he was showing towards you.

His question caused a loud rumble of approval from your stomach. It had been hours since you had eaten, you appreciated the offer. “That’s very kind of you, thank you. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

“Of course,” The Mandalorian nodded as he pushed himself up from the floor and headed towards the kitchen to fix you a plate of food.

You sat, watching the brilliant yellow and orange flames dance in the fireplace. The crackling of the fire, combined with the visuals and the warmth it generated, instantly calmed you and warmed you all over. You suddenly felt exhausted. A quick trip out to run some errands had turned into something entirely different than you had ever anticipated. You were ripped from your musings by the sound of footsteps approaching behind you. You turned to face your host, who loomed over you.

As the Mandalorian handed you the plate, you noticed that he had removed his gloves, revealing his bare hands. His skin was nothing like the child’s at all, it was tan with smatterings of dark hair. It seemed as though he was human, after all. You stared for a few seconds longer than was probably appropriate before you shook your head, bringing out of your trance. You took the plate of fruit and bread appreciatively.

“Thank you,” You whispered gratefully as you took the plate from his hands. The Mandalorian just nodded before he disappeared into the fresher, clearly giving you some space. You sensed that your presence was stirring emotions in him that you weren't entirely sure were all pleasant.

You took a deep breath before you began to eat the selection of food that he had provided for you. The way his visor seemed drawn towards you, giving you lingering glances… you wondered if he felt the electricity too, or whether it was all in your head. Perhaps you were reading something in the situation that you wanted to be there, rather than the reality. You tried to put those thoughts to the back of your mind as you tucked into the food the Mandalorian had provided.

After you had finished the food, you intended to thank the Mandalorian for his hospitality, ask for a torch and leave. But when he emerged from the fresher, events unfolded quite differently. As he stalked back across the room towards you, you found that you could not take your eyes off him. Everything about him, from the way he held himself with unmistakable confidence to manner in which he walked across the room, to the way his armour reflected the soft light emanating from the fire until it was almost glowing. It was impossible to tear your eyes away, he was enthralling to look at.

“Thank you for the food…” You said, leaving a gap where you hoped the Mandalorian might interject with his name, but he did not. So you continued: “I really appreciate you allowing me in. I can bring the clothes back tomorrow. I don’t live too far from here. So, if I could borrow a torch, then I’ll be on my way.”

You heard a deep sigh from his vocoder as he clenched his fists, his visor still firmly fixed in your direction. “I cannot allow you to walk back through the jungle when it’s so dark outside,” The Mandalorian said, his voice firm as though he was leaving no room for debate on the matter. “I insist you stay the night, walk back in the morning when it's light. I can sleep on the couch, you are welcome to the cot."

“Oh… you don’t have to do that,” You said, feeling your cheeks warm. Truthfully, you felt mortified that he was caring for you like this, as though you were a pathetic, helpless specimen. You lived here, you should be better than this.

“No I insist,” The Mandalorian said with a firm nod, “Please, you are my guest.”

“Okay…” You exhaled, deciding this man was not someone you particularly wanted to argue with, given the impressive array of weapons that you had noticed were attached to the various parts of his armour. “Thank you.”

The Mandalorian just nodded again. You had discovered that he was a man of few words, which was a shame since you thought he had an incredibly alluring voice. You walked across the cabin to the fresher to wash your face before you slept, using the cold water that you splashed on your face to ground yourself. This entire situation was entirely ridiculous. Something like this did not just happen to someone like you, whose life was so utterly monotonous in every way.

You emerged from the fresher to find the Mandalorian getting himself comfortable on the couch, a blanket slung over his legs up to his waist, as the last embers of the fire burnt out in the fireplace. You wordlessly headed across the room to the cot and nestled yourself in between the blankets. There was no way to tell whether he was asleep, given the curious fact that he appeared to sleep in his helmet. Perhaps it was just because he was around you, a stranger. You didn’t know enough about Mandalorian culture to know whether such a thing was normal for them and it felt rude to ask such a personal question of a man you had just met.

You were getting yourself comfortable in the cot, with its heavy blankets and soft pillows, when the deep voice of the Mandalorian sounded from across the room.

“Goodnight,” The Mandalorian whispered from across the room.

“Goodnight,” You responded, a small smile on your face.

You wondered whether he was currently going through the same sensation as you were, of feeling immediately comfortable in his presence. There was a warmth and comfort to him which went deeper than the very literal warmth that he had provided to you after you were caught up in the rainstorm. Perhaps it was the way he cared for his child or the plate of food he had carefully arranged for you. Regardless, it felt as though there was something strangely familiar about the Mandalorian, like you had known him for your entire life. That was a strange notion, considering you had never even encountered a Mandalorian before. They were a fairytale, something that parents told their children about. You were stunned that they still existed, especially after the rumours of a Great Purge against the Mandalorians that had reached your planet despite its tiny size and location in the Outer Rim.

You could not deny that both the cabin and the Mandalorian had helped to warm you. The biting, penetrating cold that had caused you to take such a risk on a stranger, a risk that had paid off. The warmth came not just from the fire and the thick blankets; but his calm, steady voice and strangely soothing presence, even clad in the hard, metallic armour. But it appeared that your brush with the rainstorm had left a lasting impact that was deciding now, in the silent, stillness of the cabin – where a child slept mere feet from you – to make itself known.

It appeared that, despite the thick blankets of the cot, you still could not get warm:

Achoo!

You sneezed. Loudly. You closed your eyes and bit your lip in frustration, completely mortified that you were disturbing the peace in such a violent way.

Achoo!

Another sneeze forced its way out of your body. You shut your eyes again, any warmth you felt had now dissipated. You felt terrible and hoped with every fibre of your being that the child would not be awakened by the terrible racket that you were involuntarily causing.

Achoo!

You had tried your best to suppress that one, for fear of waking up the child who was sleeping in the crib a few feet away, but it only seemed to make the sneeze be torn from your body even more violently. You were deeply embarrassed. This man had given up a part of his home to you and you could not stop disturbing him with your sneezes.

Achoo!

After another particularly loud sneeze, you heard the unmistakable sound of the Mandalorian shuffling from the sofa, his armour clanking together.

“Are you alright?” The Mandalorian asked, voice full of concern as he leaned over the foot of your cot.

“Ju….ju…just…” You stammered.

Achoo!

There was another one. “Sorry,” You sniffed, “I can’t stop sneezing!” You whined in frustration as the Mandalorian stood there, his imposing presence towering over your cot, unmoving and observing the pathetic scene before him of his guest being caught up in a terrible sneezing fit.

“Perhaps… um… I mean…” The Mandalorian stuttered, seemingly unsure of himself. You raised your eyebrows at him slightly, stunned that this usually composed warrior was struggling to get the words out in your presence. “A quick way to warm up would be… sharing body heat. I could take this off,” The Mandalorian gestured to his armour, “And get underneath the blankets with you? No pressure, I understand if you say no. I am a stranger, after all,” The Mandalorian added with a nervous laugh. “But it's just usually how I help the little guy warm up if he’s ever cold,” He finished, gesturing towards the child’s crib.

Inviting a man who you had just met mere hours ago, a Mandalorian at that, a man part of a formidable order of ancient warriors, into your bed would be such a ridiculous notion if you took a second to scrutinise it. But you felt instantly at ease with him, you knew there was no ill-intent behind his words, he was not looking for anything from you. He only wanted to help you warm up after the relentless rain had frozen you to the bone. So, for the second time that day, you went against your instincts and nodded, giving your approval to his proposal.

So, the Mandalorian busied himself, taking his pieces of armour off with a meticulousness that was fascinating to observe. It was as though it was some kind of sacred ritual for him, the way he took each piece off and placed them gently in a pile at the foot of the bed. You didn’t know anything about Mandalorian culture aside from their fearsome reputation as warriors. To be honest, you were surprised that they still existed, so observing him like this was a curious sight to you.

You waited for him to remove the helmet, wondering why he still had not. But then he made his way around the cot and climbed between the blankets, his helmeted head resting on the pillow beside yours. You took a deep breath at the intimacy of the situation.

“Leaving the helmet on?” You said, perhaps more teasingly than you intended considering you hardly knew the guy. You just wanted to check that it wasn’t on your account and let him know that you felt comfortable in his presence.

“This is the Way,” The Mandalorian replied solemnly.

You were slightly taken aback by his response, it had been instant: leaving no room for debate. You began to spiral and panic that you had offended him. You had not meant the comment with any kind of snark, to offer any judgment about his culture.

“I didn’t mean anything by it I… just… I’ve never met a Mandalorian before,” You explained, turning to face him. “I didn’t even know that they still existed.”

“It’s okay, many Mandalorians do remove their helmets,” The Mandalorian said reassuringly, his tone of voice causing you to exhale in relief. He wasn’t mad at you. “I belong to a particular group of Mandalorians who follow The Way of The Mandalore. I swore the Creed when I was a boy, a Creed which states that it is forbidden for me to show my face.”

“Oh,” You replied, stunned by his revelation and honesty. You had not been trying to pry or glean any more information from him that he was willing to offer. But this man was being so open and honest with you, it made your stomach flip. “I wasn’t aware there were different types of Mandalorians.”

“Yes, it has been the cause of many conflicts between our people across the centuries,” The Mandalorian explained, “But I hope those days are a thing of the past. We have retaken our homeworld, Mandalore, and things have been relatively stable since then.”

“Do you live on Mandalore?” You asked, curiously.

“No.” The Mandalorian shook his head and rolled over slightly, so you were now face to face with his helmet. “I live on a planet called Nevarro with my son."

"Oh. Your son is adorable by the way," You praised, it was true.

"Thank you," The Mandalorian said, pride evident in his voice. "His name is Grogu. I am very lucky to have him in my life. But enough about me, what’s your story?” The Mandalorian asked, rapidly changing the subject. You sensed there was more to the story of him and Grogu, you hoped that you would one day get to know it.

“Oh… there’s no story really to tell. I was born on this planet, lived here my entire life. Never left.” You shrugged, “I’ll probably die here. It’s always been my dream to travel throughout the stars, though.”

“You’ve never left the planet?” The Mandalorian asked, stunned by your admission.

“Never,” You confirmed. “Hopefully one day, though,” You sighed deeply, hoping against hope that the wish you had made on a shooting star only the previous evening would come true. Perhaps this Mandalorian could help you with that. You lay your head back on the pillow, lying on your back again, suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable in front of him. The Mandalorian did the same.

You and the Mandalorian lay there silently for a few moments, both of you staring at the ceiling, until you let out a loud yawn that you had been unable to suppress, the exhaustion of the day had seemingly finally caught up to you.

“You sound exhausted, it might be time to get some rest,” The Mandalorian offered.

“Yes,” You agreed, turning your head slightly to face him once again. The Mandalorian did the same and you were once again face to face with his T-visor.

“Would you… uh…” The Mandalorian stammered, the uncertainty that seemed so uncharacteristic considering the confident way he held himself had returned. “Would you like me to, you know… get close? To help warm you up?”

You smiled widely at his nervousness, such a question could have felt so suggestive coming from someone else. But with this Mandalorian, you knew it he really was just asking it out of his desire to help you.

“Sure,” You smiled at him, hoping that the particular spot of his black T-visor that you were staring at was level with his eyes.

You turned on your side, to face away from him, believing that this was probably the least terrifying position for someone who appeared to be as nervous at the prospect of sharing a bed with you as the Mandalorian was. You tried to slow your thundering heart, beating with the anticipation of feeling his touch with some deep breaths as you waited for him to move closer to you.

For such an impossibly large, broad man; the Mandalorian’s touch was incredibly gentle. It was tentative, unsure, as he wrapped his arm around your waist. You felt instantly warmed by his touch through the thin cotton shirt of his that you were wearing. You felt his chest on your back and sighed contentedly. Being held like this by a man you had just met should have been a nerve wracking experience, but with the Mandalorian, it was nothing of the sort.

You were just adjusting to his touch, his warmth and scent; when the cold, hardness of his helmet against your head and neck startled you.

“Ahh! It’s cold!” You exclaimed.

“Oh, sorry,” The Mandalorian said apologetically, his head instantly stepping back from the position it had been resting in, against the back of your neck. “I didn’t know… it’s uh… been, a while.”

The nervousness in his gravelly voice was back. It sounded as though the two of you had much in common. It had been a while since you had found yourself in a position like this.

“It’s okay,” You smiled, wishing you could add his name to reassure him but his identity was still a mystery.

“I can… turn the lights off and remove it until morning,” The Mandalorian quickly offered.

“You don’t have to do that…” You said, stunned that he would even offer such a thing.

“I know, but it’s alright,” The Mandalorian insisted. “I always wake up at first light. You won't be able to see anything, even if you tried.”

“Okay,” You breathed, strangely giddy at the thought of him trusting you like this and knowing that his bare face would be so close to yours.

You stayed facing away as the Mandalorian went to turn off the lights. The last embers of the fire had disappeared and once he hit the control panel, the cabin was plunged into complete darkness. You heard a hissing sound, presumably from his helmet depressurising. He placed it on the table by his side of the cot with a clank, and then you felt the cot dip as he climbed back between the blankets.

“There,” The Mandalorian whispered, exhaling deeply as he made his way back towards you, to gather you in his arms once more.

The sound of his unmodulated voice right in your ear, with no vocoder to distort the rich tones of his deep voice, sent chills across your body which was the opposite of what he had intended. But when he took you in his arms, the raised bumps on your flesh soon disappeared as he drew you in close.

Now that he was here, holding you so closely, you could take in his scent. There was a definitive muskiness to his scent, it was earthy, faintly metallic; hints of leather combined to reach your nostrils every time you inhaled. It was thrilling to simply lie there next to him, taking in the sensations of this formidable warrior who was providing much needed warmth after your drenching at the hands of the rainstorm.

“Goodnight, Mando,” You sighed, settling on a nickname for Mandalorians you thought you vaguely remembered from somewhere. Regardless, it just felt right. “And thank you, for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” The Mandalorian replied, voice so quiet you could barely hear him.

You were about to shut your eyes in an attempt to sleep, but the deep vibrations of the Mandalorian’s voice caused your eyes to fly open.

“My name is Din, by the way.” The Mandalorian, or Din as you now knew, whispered into your hair. You shivered at the sensation of his warm breath washing over the back of your neck.

“Oh,” You smiled, thrilled that he had entrusted you with such a piece of information. ”Goodnight, Din,”

“Goodnight,” Din rasped into your hair, tightening his grip around your waist.

You shut your eyes, a shy smile across your face. Your drenching at the hands of the rainstorm and the coldness that ensued a distant memory now you were warm and safe in Din’s arms. Perhaps leaving your coat behind in your cabin had been the best decision you’d ever made.

It meant you got to cuddle with a Mandalorian for warmth.

#dincember 2023 #din djarin #din djarin fluff #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal characters #my fics #my back aches and i need to drink water just lost like five hours to this bad boy woooo

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kana7o · 1 year

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My entry for the sith obikin event!! The prompt was Same age raised as a sith AU!! tho in here they weren't so much 'raised' as sith, but fell on their own?

had many Thoughts with my wife for this prompt, so here's a summary!! I hope I can expand more on this in the future hhhHHH

Same age raised as a sith AU!!!

Quigon bringing his new 13yo padawan Obi-wan to the trade negotiations and etc. They are still basically strangers at this point and they don't mesh well. When Qui-gon finds Anakin, he has every intention to replace Obi-wan with him. But then Darth Maul happens and delivers a fatal blow. Obi-wan manages to kill him still, but Qui-gon's last words to Obi-wan are not to promise to train the boy, but instead he tells him that he knows he used the dark side to kill Maul, and that he'll never be a Jedi.

Obi-wan is devastated, but wanting to still honor his master, he brings Anakin to Coruscant, he may not have Qui-gon as his master, but he is The Chosen one, so surely someone will train him.

He was wrong.

The council sends both of them away to the Agri corps, but their transport gets attacked (by pirates or smth), they survive, but theyre stranded somewhere unfamiliar with only the clothes on their back.

Obi-wan begrudges Anakin for being the one Qui-gon wanted, but he puts his feelings away for now and looks after him, feeling responsible for his fate in a way. He promises he will try to get him back to Tattooine and his mother.

Anakin already feels somewhat betrayed and hurt by the Jedi, being tossed away despite what Qui-gon said. He feels that the only good Jedi is Obi-wan, who protects him and promises to take him home. (Even tho sometimes he is cold to him)

It takes many years of them just trying to survive and save enough money for a transport to take them to the outer rim to tattooine, Obi-wan teaching Anakin basic saber training that he barely understands himself. He tries to teach him how to use the force, tho it is more difficult for him. He becomes naturally jealous when it comes so easily to Anakin. Anakin thinking he's done something wrong, or is a bad student when Obi-wan suddenly becomes mad at him.

Eventually they make it back to Tattooine, but by the time they get there, its already too late to save Shmi. They bury her together. Obi-wan, feeling like he has nothing to do with Anakin after bringing him back home, disappears in the night.

He starts making his way towards a bar maybe, vaguely thinking of what to do with his life now, when he's accosted by some criminals. He's about to take them out himself when they're suddenly brutally cut down by a familiar lightsaber. Anakin with bright yellow, crazed eyes looks at Obi-wan and tells him that he's the only one Anakin has left, and he won't let anyone hurt him.

-----

THIS KIND OF GOT AWAY FROM ME BUT TO TIE UP WITH MY DRAWINGS, its basically Obi-wan trying to be a 'good Jedi', for Anakin, who's fallen into hero worshipping him, and will do anything to protect his view of his 'purity'. He becomes a Sith to protect Obi-wan.

Obi-wan feels extremely guilty about this despite his complicated feelings towards Anakin, Anakin is also the only one who believes in and loves him. So he tries to be a good jedi for him, even tho it haunts him that Qui-go said he would never be one.

In the end, Obi-wan Falls, trying to protect Anakin. Anakin is devastated, he feels like his life is a Lie, or maybe he failed in protecting Obi-wan, and that he wouldn't have Fallen if only he'd been Better.

Good End is where they finally have a Talk about expectations, what the Jedi and Sith mean to them, etc etc and they smooch and save the galaxy one way or the other, the end :)

Bad End is where Anakin takes out Obi-wan's yellow eyes because he reasons that if his eyes aren't yellow, or there at all, he can't be a Sith then :) Obi-wan now can only rely on Anakin to protect him. Obi-wan still punishes Anakin by making him wear a muzzle, like the guard dog he is :)) They save(?) the galaxy one way or the other, the end :)))

#obikin #sith au #my first sketches ended up being more sith fashion show than a proper AU dfkjghsldkfg #sw

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wolfythewitch · 1 year

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is it odd that when i see ur odysseus i don’t see jesus, i just see wet cat (affectionate)? i don’t get the comparison and i feel a bit out of the loop lmao

People will see any brown haired bearded guy and go "Jesus" and hearing it a few times is funny. Hearing it over a dozen times on multiple platforms gets kind of old. I liked the design because I finally learned how to draw an okay beard and now I want to maul people with a spoon

#wolfy tedtalks #anon

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itsnothingofinterest · 1 year

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How ironic that this is literally Touya's last moments he's laying there severely mauled and Edv just gets up and starts speaking over him and making even this about himself again.

Well of course Dabi's not actually going to die, want to get that out of the way, but I get your meaning and agree Enji is kind of drawing attention away from Touya while he's in his worst state yet. Sadly pretty typical of him.

I mean yes, Endeavor should still apologize to the whole family; but time & place man, this is neither. (Also hey remember when he gave the impression he wanted to make up for things with actions not words?)

It's just another way I'm not feeling this climax for the Todorokis, and really makes me think we are nowhere close to the end of their plot lines. I am so getting back on my My Hero part 2 BS after this chapter just you wait.

#ask & reply #bnha #bnha 390 #anti endeavor #dabi #touya todoroki #my stupid long term predictions #Endeavor has a unique skill to convince himself he's changed while convincing me he has not.

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loth-creatures · 4 months

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Do Wolfwalkers have a kind of Dark Side reaction? I can see Ezra threatening to tear off Maul's face as a wolf---

OUHGGHGHH FOR SURE

The wolves are in part a manifestation of one's connection to the Force (see Lore) and would definitely be affected by the Dark Side.

I imagine they slowly become more unpredictable and dangerous as wolves. The wolves may be restless even when they are awake, ravenous, itching to rip and rend. They grow unsettling. It's subtle but they seem ever so slightly off to those around them. They have too many teeth. You turn your back and feel like you are being watched and hunted even if you know them. They seem normal when looking directly at them, but turn your head and for a split-second you see this in your peripheral.

I've also been toying with the idea of wolfwalkers having a sort of kill mode, but it's just a wolf thing, not necessarily a Dark Side thing. Though I imagine it is way more volatile in dark wolfwalkers. But think about it, usually the wolfwalkers would be instinctively very careful with their teeth. Unless fighting another wolf, they fight without biting as much as possible, at least not enough to draw blood. So as not to wolf random people. Until they intend to kill you. You piss one off enough, if they hate you enough, you're gonna bypass bite safety and activate kill mode. It no longer matters if they bite as long as they finish you.

I've actually decided this is how Baylan gets wolfed. By Sabine. She'll try to kill him at some point (probably attempting to escape the Sion after they've landed but gets caught) and nearly succeeds but Wolf Shin intervines, and bc Baylan survives (barely), he's now a wolfwalker. Sabine's real unhappy about it. She made him worse.

I haven't done much with the Maul situation bc I haven't thought of anything interesting that wouldn't create a domino effect I don't want to deal with. But like I can't not so we'll see if I squeeze in a short chapter about it. Maul would probably just be like. Wow neat trick, you must be sooo powerful to be able to do that, waaay more powerful then your pathetic Jedi master deserves to train, I'm just saying all the more reason to be my apprentice-

#lothwolfwalkers #sww asks #ezra bridger #sabine wren #star wars rebels #swr

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mouschiwrites · 6 months

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hey!! I'm making a request for a match-up :))

uhhh platonic, female reader, south park, and some stuff about me is thattt I'm a huge study person, artist, pianist, music LOVER, and TV girl Stan (TRY ME I LOVE THEM SO SO MUCH)

Thanks for your request!! :D I match you with:

Stan Marsh!!

Some headcanons!

He loves to listen to you play piano

He definitely requests you to play funny songs

And he’ll do the most cringe dances you’ve ever seen while you play

He also just likes to share earbuds

Especially when you’re walking home together

You guys have multiple collaborative playlists, all with goofy names like “playlist for when I’m with your mom” or “getting mauled by a bear <3”

But you also have some moody playlists

When one of you is in a bad mood, you’ll invite the other over and just put on your moody playlist

You’ll mope around for a while until you’re ready to talk

(If you want to talk at all)

When you’re not being moody, you’ll play one of your goofier playlists

Honestly you guys just kind of vibe in each other’s presence

Stan likes it when you draw while hanging out though, and he always asks to see when you’re done

He’ll back off if you decline, but he’ll hype you up so much if you do show him

Much like with the piano, he’ll request you to draw stupid things

He’ll hang the drawings on his wall if you let him keep them

He also relies on you academically

Study sessions aren’t uncommon between you two

He’s more inclined to come to you for help than Kyle; you’re way nicer than him

Plus you’ll let him listen to music while you study

If you couldn’t tell already, music is a huge part of your guys’ friendship

A drabble!

You harrumphed, slumping against the wall.

Stan looked up from his phone. He was lying on your bedroom floor, scrolling away, while you were drawing on your bed. Well, trying to draw.

“Art block?” Stan guessed.

You sighed loudly in response.

“Want me to give you some ideas?”

The corner of your mouth quirked up in a lopsided smirk. Oh boy, time for something stupid. You nodded.

“Okay, hm… Sonic. But he’s sharing lasagna with Garfield.”

You nodded again, getting straight to work. You drummed your finger on the edge of the sketchbook while you drew, appreciating the music.

A couple songs later, the sketch was done. You tilted your head thoughtfully as you stared at it. “I’m going to add more stuff.”

Feeling inspired, you filled the negative space on the page with as many pop culture references as you could think of. Character after character appeared in the sketch until every corner of the paper was drawn on. It took a long time, but you were quite proud of the result.

“Done.”

“Can I see?” Stan sat up, excitement obvious in his expression.

With a comedic smirk you flipped the sketchbook around, letting him behold your masterpiece.

“Is that Brian from Family Guy?” Stan burst into laughter, taking the book into his own hands to get a closer look.

He was howling within seconds, tears filling his eyes as he noticed each little detail. “Oh man,” he gasped, out of breath from his fit. “This is amazing.”

You were giggling a bit yourself, watching him lose it like that. “Thanks.”

“Please let me keep this.”

You waved your hand dismissively. “You’re the one who inspired my masterpiece.”

With a huge grin Stan carefully tore the page out, handing you your book while he continued to stare at the drawing.

And a song!

Talk to Me (Cavetown)

We can talk here on the floor

On the phone, if you prefer

I'll be here until you're okay

Let your words release your pain

You and I will share the weight

Growing stronger day by day

…

Anxiety, tossing, turning in your sleep

Even if you run away, you still see them in your dreams

It's so dark tonight, it looks nice, fall asleep

It's alright, come inside, and talk to me

Thank you for your support!! Take care of yourself, lovely lovely dear <33

(divider by saradika)

#south park #south park x reader #stan marsh #stan marsh x reader #stan x reader

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fallenclan · 8 months

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Sorry I'm normal and perk up like a cat hearing a bird at any mention of Sunwish. (NOTE - need to think about 🧶 anon's ask some more rotate it in my head but i do concur largely and also am a little insane about it. Holding hands and skipping and singing tralala together as Sun & Scorch apologists respectively & wielder of them all)

IN FOCUS THOUGH. Ohh... I have to wonder about Sun and Morning's relationship. Sun wasn't amongst those openly mourning Morning, to my memory, but I have to think. I have to wonder. Morningbloom was strict and a good kitsitter; Sunwish was righteous and a good listener. Morningbloom was 19 moons when Sunwish was 12 moons - feasibly someone Sun would've looked up to, as an older warrior apprentice then warrior. Morningbloom was the first cat - the only cat, according to my notes - to die directly under Sunwish's paws as the clan's sole medic. (Nettlestem was found dead, I believe? Mauled on a walk.) (Though you COULD speculate she might've been found alive for drama, if you want - probably a case of Sun being in the wrong place, not having the right herbs, or just not being able to repair that kind of damage. Either way, she mourns her.) I have to wonder.

Did Sunwish aspire to be like Morningbloom, of who we saw little, but seemed a respectable warrior? Did Morningbloom appreciate Sunwish's company while she was in the medicine den with a broken spine; did she think her hard-headed righteousness was cute? Did Sunwish appreciate Morningbloom's, prickly* though she could be? For some reason Morning gives me the vibe of someone who's just nice company in general, good to sit with. Heart-rendingly, I can't help but wonder - if Morningbloom was a good kitsitter, Sunwish a good listener, did she tell her about the little cats she'd looked out for before** in those nights she was stuck on bedrest? Reminiscing, maybe laughing off some of Sunwish's dread at the prospect of having to see to some arrive safely someday as the clan's medic, smiling around some casual reassurance. Did Sunwish believe it? Did Morningbloom?

Did she still, as she laid dying under her paws?

[1/2] (- 🐈‍⬛)

THIS IS MAKING ME SO UNWELL WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN WTFFFFFFFFF

just. first of all. the final painful edition fucking FLOORED me. i literally stopped and put my head in my hands physically what the FUUUUCK thats so fucked up wtf. holy shit and that just makes me wonder if Oaktuft ever knew that Scorchstar was the one that killed Sunwish. and if they would have felt guilty about it. AUGH???

Morningbloom and Sunwish. oh fuuuck they are making me feel ILL. because i can look back at my drawings fairly easily i can tell you that Sunwish was NOT one of the cats to mourn Morningbloom but i am completely disregarding this bc like. could you fucking imagine. Morningbloom spent all those moons in the medicine den healing her broken spine. they HAD to have talked a bit, maybe even been friends? a little? and yeah Morningbloom grew a little crush on her but WHAT IF. Sunwish finally let slip how much she hated being a medicine cat. and Morningbloom promised once she got better she would teach Sunwish some battle moves or hunting moves. and maybe she DID. maybe the two of them in their spare time went out on faux patrols like Sunwish was a real warrior. maybe Morningbloom was the one to cheer when Sunwish caught her first prey. do you think that Sunwish would have finally grown some hope about her situation, and dreamed that one day she might be a warrior? do you think that when Morningbloom died, her hopes did too?

another thing you're right about is Morningbloom fr has haunted the narrative SO much. arguably more than any other clan founder??? i mean. Scorchstar, Nettlestem, Oaktuft, they were all old and relatively fulfilled when they died. Wildfang didn't really have time to leave an impact on the clan. Sunwish is obviously another story but MORNINGBLOOM. even though she died on only like moon 25 you can FEEL her impact through the story. she's haunting it. imagine how Sunwish felt. even if there WAS nothing she could do, i bet thats not what she told herself. hell, I bet that's not even what Scorchstar told her. even if Morningbloom's ghost didn't really haunt her. maybe all the sleepless nights... idk. i have thoughts.

but FUCK when Sunwish died????? and Morningbloom is like. There. yknow. the physical manifestation of your failure at the one duty you were permitted to do. the only path you were allowed to follow. the death on your paws. standing right in front of you and smiling???? unreal. i bet the first words out of Morning's mouth were assurances that it wasn't Sunwish's fault, it was never Sunwish's fault.

do you think they spend their free time in Starclan practicing hunting moves?

#fallenasks #black cat anon #sunwish #IM SO UNWELLLLL #and youre SO right about sunwish having that autistic swagger too. who says she wasn't grieving maybe she just shows it differently huh.#ever think about that?#this lives in my head now btw. everything you say about sunwish is so unbelievably correct

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pianocat939 · 1 year

Text

Boring Maiden Whom I Love

Hi have this shitty late Valentine's Special I spent almost an entire week mauling over. I love shrine maiden Leo so much-

Synopsis: While visiting a shrine on the outskirts of the city, you encounter a shrine maiden who seems to not enjoy your presence, to say the least. Despite his bitter self, you can't help but be enamoured by his beauty.

Word Count: 2.7K+

Based off this post and this post.

Tw: anxiety (Leo-), mentions of past isolation, angst but fluff ending

After a never-ending barrage of suggestions from your co-workers and friends, you've finally decided to visit the shrine at the edge of the city. When you arrived, already the place was intriguing, to say the least. You see a few small statues leading up the path of the entrance, all of the statues being adorable animals. Towards the end of the path, you notice a shrine maiden cleaning off dust and dirt with a broom, seemingly occupied with his thoughts.

Wow, he's pretty.

You silently slip past the shrine maiden, not wanting to disturb his job. But you stop by a disgruntled mumble from the shrine maiden himself, “Why is someone here this early in the morning? Please don’t tell me it’s another tourist…” He pauses his brooming to swiftly walk before you; seemingly getting ready for customers. You stare at his fading form, admiring the gentle flow of his cobalt-coloured skirt. He was sassy but gloriously ethereal. You wondered how someone so beautiful is doing such a job as a shrine maiden. Surely people should be crowding around him, wanting to engorge themselves on his appearance. But then again, you kind of liked having this secret, knowing that he’s not constantly focused on by the public. And maybe, if you’re lucky, you can catch his interest.

You drag along, finally ascending the stairs of the entryway. You freeze, stunned by the intricacy of all the statues, buildings, and gates of the shrine. Waves, divots, and several patterns are covered in the structures, enhancing their decoration. “Well did you come here to stare at things? Because if you are, I would love to get back to my reading.” You turn to the shrine maiden whose leaning on furniture filled with stacks of small drawers. The same frown graces his face, obviously expressing his annoyance. Quickly, you scramble a response, “Uh no, I um, I guess it’s my first time visiting any Shinto shrine so I don’t really know what you do…?” A silent moment hangs down on the conversation, quite awkward. The shrine maiden smirks before explaining, “Shrine maidens do all sorts of things: exorcisms, cleansing if you want to call it that, and fortune drawing…Oh and cleaning this place.”

“Fortune drawing? Shouldn’t it be fortune telling?” You question, skeptical of his choice of words. He shakes his head, “No, unlike fortune telling, we don’t tell you the fortune rather we help you draw it. Then you read it for yourself.” He opens the bottom drawer of the furniture, its size much larger than the ones above. He reveals a hexagonal wooden cylinder, a small slit apparent at the top. “Wanna try?” He jiggles the box a little, a sound of jingling items within resounding. “Sure.”

In an instant, you notice his demeanour change, now much more serious and intent. He shakes the box, shuffling it to ensure randomness. He tips the box down, holding his hand out over the slit, ready for the fortune to slip through. A thin stick pops out, and Leo flips the box over once more after he grabs the fortune. “25…” He mutters, heading over to the tiny drawers to take out a piece of paper. He hands you the parchment, now back to his laid-back personality.

You read the paper, frowning slightly when it says 'tremendously bad fortune'. "What does it say?" He inquires, acknowledging your change in expression. You look up at him, displaying the paper, "Bad fortune." He stills and blanks out for a second before sauntering over to a metal rack. "Unlike bitchy fortune tellers who say you're at doom's doorstep, you can tie your bad fortune to dispel it. Which then turns into good fortune.” You notice a number of small papers knotted onto the metal bars: some neat, others not so much.

You step over next to him and fold the fortune, trying to transform it into a line-like form. Curling one end under the bar, you encircle the material over the freezing metallic medium. You struggle to tie it into a knot, unused to such a method of tying. The shrine maiden notices your unskilled attempt at knotting and interjects, “Here, let me do it.”

He gracefully slips the paper from underneath your hands and effortlessly weaves it into a tie. He was so close to you, you could even see the stain of his teeth. There’s no denying, he was charming, and you were falling for it. Yet you’ve just barely met him…Which was odd, to say the least.

“There, you should have good fortune now.” He stands back to glance at you, a bit of amusement swirling in his eyes. “Too impressive for you?” He remarks, a cocky grin forming on his face. You looked so silly staring blankly at the rack before you; even a child would laugh.

“Huh? Oh yeah, sure.” You respond voice monotone. He chuckles a little, head cocking to the side slightly. “Well, I’ve been doing knotting since I was a kid.” He proudly swishes his skirt, the fabric fluttering like a bird’s wings. If only he knew, you weren’t impressed by the knotting; rather the one who knotted the paper.

He gives you a small tour of the shrine after that, a little less bitter as time goes on. Yet at certain moments, you notice he avoids answering questions. As if he’s embarrassed to reveal the truth. But soon enough the wandering comes to an end. The shrine maiden stands at the gate of the shrine, clutching the folds of his skirt gently.

“Now you’re more cultured with Shinto shrines.” He declares in a smug tone, trying to irk you. You smile and stare back at him, admiring the sunlight on his green skin. How you wish you could be closer to him: not a stranger, but rather a friend, and maybe even a lover.

“Bye.” You give a blunt greeting, waving to him. He only gives a nod and turns back to head to the shrine. You copy his action, only to stop in place. You never asked what his name was. You whip around and call out to him, “Hey! I never asked your name!” He looks over his shoulder in surprise, mouth slightly agape.

“Leonardo.”

——————————————————

As the season turns from spring to summer, you’ve become much more acquainted with him; spending at least two days a week at the shrine whenever he’s working his weekly shifts. The unfamiliarity and coldness of your relationship washed away; replaced with a kinder tone.

He smiles a bit more and doesn’t try to hit you with his broom every three seconds. His gaze wasn’t so dark and empty, it was now with a glimmer that was warm, serene. On some days you notice he seems almost excited to see you like he was patiently waiting for you to arrive. But maybe it’s your imagination, because why would he want to talk to some random person who almost creepily visits the days he’s on shift?

The summer morning was hot, your skin feeling like burning away. Yet you trudged up the stairs, finding more importance in meeting your crush. When you arrived at the shrine area you notice he’s nowhere to be seen; in fact, no one’s here as usual, and he’s the only one here often. You then hear faint laughter, muffled by the walls of the buildings. You approach the source of the noise, wondering who it might be.

“I guess the fish that end up on land are…washed up!” The laugh belonged to no other than Leonardo himself, and it was adorable in a peculiar way. You stand behind a wall, listening to him make jokes and puns. He’s never laughed in front of you before; sure, he’s chuckled a few times but nothing too expressive. You liked it. You liked the sound of his giggles; perhaps even love. A few minutes later, you reveal yourself and walk up to him. He instantly freezes and stares at you, his eyes wide in embarrassment. “You didn’t hear anything.” You smile and raise an eyebrow, finding his shyness amusing. “No of course I didn’t, I sincerely did not hear you laugh at your own jokes.” He rests his elbows on the table he sits at, covering his face. “Leave me alone…I just can’t share them with anybody.”

Can’t? What does he mean by can’t? They weren’t too bad when you heard them earlier. “What do you mean can’t?” You sit down across from him, glancing at his face occasionally. He pauses and looks away, propping his face into his hand. You can tell it’s something sensitive. You should tell him he doesn’t have to- “Well, I don’t have any friends.”

You blink, processing the information. Have no friends? He’s so pretty how could he not have friends? Nonetheless a significant other. Your thoughts race through your mind, creating question after question. “Can I ask…why?”

He looks back at you, his eyes now blackened with something grim, horrifyingly dark. “All my life, my dad never really let us leave the house or shrine that much. Me and my brothers always felt isolated, hidden away. So even now I rarely talk to anyone outside my family: I’m just not used to it.”

That’s why. That’s why he isn’t a famous model or dating a celebrity—he was alone. Is that why he seemed to be excitedly talking to you? Why his smile seemed to dampen when you left? It hurt your heart a little, knowing someone so majestic feels such a negative feeling like loneliness. “I can be your friend if you want.” You impulsively blurt, your brain betraying your dignity.

He pauses, surprised by your offer. He leans his cheek on his fingers and smiles. “Sure, if it means I get to annoy you with the jokes I’ve stored all these years.” You frown-smile and shake your head, a little scared about what’s going to come next. “I’m gonna hope they aren’t too bad.” His warm smile turns into a devious smirk. He’s definitely thinking of something bad…Really bad.

“Well I think my jokes are pretty shelly~” He chirps, eyes narrowing in amusement. You laugh a little, finding his pun cute. “Whatever you say, Leonardo.” He stills for a moment, staring deeply into your eyes.

“Call me Leo.” He turns his head away, a touch of scarlet burning on his crescent stripes. He seems to not know what else to say. You blink, realizing the meaning of this statement. He officially thinks you're friends.

"Of course, Leo."

——————————————————

Fuck, why did it have to be today that you have all these errands to do? Instead of planning for the feared Valentine's Day, you have to run around doing dull tasks. It frustrates you, knowing that your patience of a year is ripped apart.

You've waited so long to ask Leo out, pondering days upon days whether or not the time was right. Yet to your best luck, Valentine's Day came around: the perfect and most romantic time to invite him to an outing. And perhaps the highest chances of acceptance it'll ever be.

Oh, but the nature of society has damned you into activities you wanted to burn. You want to run away and hug Leo so tightly; aggression for adorableness activating. You want to see his flustered face and loss for words. He was cute when he didn't know how to respond.

If you're quick enough, you can catch him right before he goes home...

——————————————————

Where are you? Those thoughts rang in Leo's mind as he polishes the wood of the offering table. There hasn't been a single day where you haven't visited him. And if you did, you texted or told him the day before. So what happened now? Were you sick? Hurt? His anxiety claws at him, shredding his heart.

He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to stab his heart. Why was he feeling like this? He shouldn't think such thoughts for a friend! Especially one who obviously has no interest in him. They would never have an interest in such a boring shrine maiden like him.

He needs to swallow his feelings and let them rest in his icy heart. It should never come out ever again. His love and admiration shall be buried in a pit of darkness. He's fine with standing there, watching from afar, knowing he'll never be able to kiss them good morning or good night. He'll never be able to tell all those romance jokes he's thought of since he was a child.

As the sun slowly sets, his fears grow more vigorous, encompassing his entire being. He's already ready to go home, deciding he shouldn't wait for someone who won't show up. Hopefully, by the next time he works, they'll be there, waiting for him; with a bright smile and arms wide open. He takes his small bag and walks down the steps, heading for his house not too far away from the shrine.

He then hears a thunder of footsteps, approaching his direction. Someone was coming. And before he can react it's his beloved, holding a box of some sort. He freezes, eyes wide; he can't believe it, they appeared right as he was about to leave. Why were they so desperate to see him? Was something wrong? He moves to them, a worried stare tracing over their features.

"Why are you here? Shouldn't you be home by now?" Leo cocks his head to the side slightly, confused why they would be here so late. They smile, gripping the box that rests in their hands. "Do you know what day it is?" Leo crosses his arms and bluntly answers, "Tuesday." They proceed to ask another question, "What's the date?" The turtle frowns slightly and raises an eyebrow muscle, "February 14." Their smile grows into a grin, their teeth gleaming in the moonlight. "What happens on February 14?" He pauses to think, not knowing what could be special today; it's not a birthday, nor a political holiday either.

Then it hit him. It's Valentine's Day.

"No...You possibly couldn't be-" He's cut off by them, "I am. Leonardo Hamato, I am asking you out." There's an odd boldness radiating from them as they've prepared for ages for this. Leo can't help but blush, his eyes darting around, not knowing how to respond. "I- uh, well um, I don't think..." He pauses, turning his head away. "I don't think you should be asking a boring shrine maiden out; especially for Valentine's Day."

A moment of silence stabs the conversation, an awkward tension. Leo's face is taken into someone's hand and turned to face them once more. "Boring? You think you're boring? Weird, because I see you as one of the funniest people I've met, with stories sad enough to make a serial killer cry." Their smile instantly turns into a worried expression. Is there something wrong? Oh, wait...

He's crying.

The feeling feels unfamiliar but pleasing. Being adored is a feeling he never wishes to fade away. He wants to stay with them forever, so his loneliness from years of isolation can drip down into an abyss he shall never see.

"If you don't think I'm so boring, then I guess I'll accept your offer." The curve of his mouth peaks upwards, copying the action they committed earlier. Within seconds he's hugged, gentle but firm arms wrapped around his sides. "You know, you're really cute when you're flustered. Did you know that?" The sudden comment forces Leo to splutter completely off guard. "WHA- Excuse me?" They laugh, releasing their hold off of them.

"You heard me. Now meet me here at noon tomorrow." As soon as they finish their statement, lips brush across their cheek, soft and a slight chill to it. The peck was quick to come and quick to leave; not enough time for them to react.

They turn around to find Leo running down the steps, clearly too flustered with the situation to continue for the day: how adorable. He was so bitter at their meeting, but look at him now; too shy to do anything but run away with a multitude of shades of blush coating his face. Looks like he had a change of mind over the past year.

Their boring shrine maiden: who held a past so grim, yet maintained a brightness locked away to only those who were worthy. Those who visited him every day, those who were willing to put in the effort of getting to know him. They were ecstatic, knowing that Leo has similar thoughts: love and admiration one cannot possibly fathom with words.

Like the day of their first meeting, if you tie your bad fortune upon the rack, it will become an excellent fortune.

Wait a second, they never got to give the box of sweets.

——————————————————

I KINDA HALF ASSED THIS AT SOME POINT FROM EXHAUSTION DON'T MIND IT IF THERE'S MISTAKES EVERYWHERE.

Well anyway, I hope you like this fic-

#rottmnt x reader #tmnt x reader #rottmnt #tmnt #leo #rise leo #tmnt 2018 #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #Leo x reader #leonardo x reader #I love my shrine maiden so much bro-

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