『 R E Q U E S T S , C L O S E D 』AnimeCharacters x Reader

15. Shin Tsukinami x Vampire! Reader | What's That Written On Your Wrist?

→ character : Shin Tsukinami | Diabolik Lovers MORE, BLOOD

→ requested by : SasheeTadashee

→ 03312017

→ soulmate AU, wherein the very first thing your soulmate tells you is written on your wrist; you're on your way home, and no amount of iced tea could have prepared you for the sight you're about to see.

[a/n]: i'm not so familiar with shin and carla's characters compared to the other diaboys, but i tried my best, and i hope you like it.

i would also like to put it out there that when you request a fic, and you have a specific plot in mind, don't hesitate to tell me. i endeavor to please after all :))  [plus i suck at coming up with plot everything's just tremendously cliche].

x x

You wave your friends goodbye as you break away into smaller groups, and they're all undeniably, significantly warmer with somebody by their side clutching their hand and exchanging new inside jokes. All you had a coat draped over your shoulders, gifted by Subaru, the closest thing to compassionate that you could find in the Sakamaki household, and the only thing clinging onto your hand were stripes of sweat along the lines of your palm, and the cool night air that clung to it.

You dig your hands into the deepest sections of your coat pockets, upsetting a small pebble and listening as it skipped against the asphalt. Three fast clicks later, and the world around you returned to silence.

From the few inches of pale skin that isn't concealed under the thick cloth of your coat, you catch a glimpse of black ink that's been etched on your skin for as long as you can recall, the color as black as the world in its darkest hours, when dirty grey clouds roll over the moon, and the only thing that's keeping the world illuminated are the persistent dreamers, and the lampposts that stand guard, keeping road accidents to a minimum.

Oh, do shut up. Those were the words that have been tattooed onto your right wrist, words that you've spent many long nights brooding over ( more than once ). Words that have been predetermined by whatever greater being's at work, and are supposed to be the precursor to the rest of your romantic life.

Think of it as the prologue to a lengthy novel. The phrase on your wrist was something like that, eye-catching and it always leaves you feeling so alive with so many questions, questions you want answered.

You shove your hands even further into the pockets of your coat, partly because it was cold, but mostly because you didn't want the thoughts of that damned phrase raining on your metaphorical parade. You begin your journey back home.

x x

You easily slip in and out of the streaks of light on the street produced by the lampposts just as easily as you drift between a pleasant daydream you've created and reality. There's an alley flanking you to your right, and on either side of it are buildings that you weren't familiar with.

You paid it no mind, because it didn't stand out in particular, with its dark paint job and its below average height, and because the only things that stood out in the impermanent blanket of darkness were things of the opposite. You dismiss the thought, because the only things you cared about were getting home at an appropriate time ( though you had given up on that notion a few minutes ago ), and the steady ache of your legs from profuse walking that it wasn't used to.

You hum an American song you heard on the radio the other day, barely remembering the lyrics, save for one or two phrases of the chorus, and you reiterate the lines you do know, humming otherwise.

"Oh, do shut up." The sentence was punctuated by a sickening crack and a heavy thump on asphalt dirtied by spit and dust, and before you know it, your legs take off, sprinting, despite the protest of your muscles. You take yourself to the source of the unsettling noise, despite it giving you every reason not to come close.

You're taken back to the alley you overlooked a few minutes ago, and you spot two figures in the dirty, shallow light. One curled into the ball on the ground, and another, upright, with an irritated downwards movement to his lips. Both of them were covered completely with fresh blood.

shin's point of view.

The man's babbling was incessant and much too desperate, even for my cruel taste, and despite the hand that was clamped around his throat, almost guaranteeing his death, he still begs for some form of kindness from me.

"Please!"

With a roll of my eyes, I snap his neck, crushing whatever organs were located underneath the unhealthy collection of greasy fat he called a neck, the movement precise and efficient. The man exhales one last time, shaky and faint like an elder on his deathbed, and all his life exits him with his final breath.

I drop him to the ground, having no use for a deceased, overweight, middle-aged man who's probably drowning in unpaid debts and unhealthy habits.

Really, I wasn't prepared for the sudden pounding of heeled shoes from somewhere in the night, and the girl that appears at the entrance and exit of the alley, breathing heavily, lone strands of her hair sticking to her face.

She doesn't seem fazed by the blood that's been showered all over me. At all. She's panting heavily, from exhaustion and not from panic, choosing to come even closer with caution.

I can't help but grin in amusement, because she deviated from regular mortals, who would quickly turn tail and run as fast as they were able, screaming, as if the expansive sky would answer their prayers for help. This girl was fearless, stupidly so, it was in the way she upheld her gait with a baseless confidence.

The girl's eyebrows quirk up in what I'm assuming is surprise. "You too, huh?"

It's my turn to be taken aback, and even from above a thick film of blood I didn't own, blood that was beginning to feel crusty against my skin, I could still make out the dark ink against the red on my wrists. The exact words inscribed on the pale flesh, emboldened in a monotonous fashion. Some god's probably laughing at this chance encounter, sitting atop his celestial throne up there in the heavens.

The girl fixes herself so she's standing perfectly still, and she laughs a breathless laugh, and from the seconds her mouth's open to push out breaths and laughs, I can finally see it: morbidly emphasized canines, sharpened like old war tools, powerful enough to pierce skin and draw out mouthfuls of blood. The telltale sign of a vampire.

"You're. . ." My words are taken from me, gone like the life of the man still lying at my feet, left to soak up his own blood, and it's transferred to the girl, who's the more expressive out of the two of us, who's still so laughably confident.

"Yeah," she laughs, with significantly much more breath and vigor, and her fangs display themselves once again, as if to mock me for not connecting the pieces together sooner. "Guess I'm your soulmate."

It wasn't what I had intended to say, but it didn't make her statement any less correct.